


Heal me after hurting

by Bow_woahh



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Tension, Exes, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Sickfic, Tentative fluff, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, but will they?, theres a lot of tension okay?, they need to talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bow_woahh/pseuds/Bow_woahh
Summary: A million feelings she’s been fighting off for months threaten to overwhelm her: feelings of deep and utter care; of complete adoration; feelings of hot and harsh hatred; of absolute disdain; and abandonment, definitely abandonment; to confusion, anxiety, all bubbling as she tries to calm herself down; eyes closed, chanting the mantra:you are in control, you are stronger now.___Catra gets sick and someone unexpected turns up to help.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 361





	1. Sick of seeing your face

**Author's Note:**

> T/W at the end for those who don’t want to know stuff that could be considered spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, been working on this for a lil while, this was supposed to be a one shot but I’m incapable of writing things which are short so enjoy the first chapter!

Catra knows she didn't sleep much last night. Most of it was spent coughing out her guts. She remembers that. She remembers messaging Scorpia. She remembers Scorpia saying she'd send some stuff over. She remembers music playing in the background, soft, peaceful, a stark contrast to her hacking her intestines alongside that thick phlegm up. 

That's about all. 

Mouth, throat and lips dry, she takes a sip from the water bottle on her nightstand and cringes so hard her eyes squeeze shut as the water feels like it's going down her throat the same way nails drag across a chalkboard — it shouldn't. And it hurts.

Internally groaning, because she figures it would hurt to do that aloud, she curses her immune system for not allowing this to fade overnight. Instead, it's gotten worse. College students _ don't _ have time to be sick, but here she is: dark circles under her eyes, a second or so away from what might as well be death, because she hates, _ hates _ being sick with all her heart. Not even all the shitty Netflix shows in the world are enough to make this better. Catra can't afford to miss school, so she checks the time, hopeful.

Only seven. She can make it. Then, she realises that's a terrible idea, because she doesn't need to bring the plague with her to class, nor does she want to. Being ill in school _ sucks_. So the decision is already fated by the stars. Bed ridden. 

However, the last thing she wants is to be stuck in her room all day. It feels too claustrophobic when she’s like this, like solitary confinement. And it doesn't have a TV with Netflix therefore, living room it is. 

As she trudges over to the sofa, phone, book (which she’s never going to read), and box of tissue in hand, she finally realises...she isn't the only one home. 

_ What? _

Scorpia is away, _ with _Entrapta and...no one else comes to her house. The only person with the house pin is—

"Catra? Are you awake?"

When Scorpia said that she'd deliver a few things over, she didn't think—

It's her. Standing in her kitchen, holding a carton of eggs, is Adora. 

A million feelings she’s been fighting off for months threaten to overwhelm her: feelings of deep and utter care; of complete adoration; feelings of hot and harsh hatred; of absolute disdain; and abandonment, _ definitely _ abandonment; to confusion, anxiety, all bubbling as she tries to calm herself down; eyes closed, chanting the mantra: 

_ you are in control, you are stronger now. _

Adora, who broke up with her. Adora, who she has barely spoken to in months. Adora, who back then had looked at her with so much hate— no, _ disappointment _ that it was all Catra needed to be shattered in two. _ Adora, _ who did all these things and _ was _ everything, is now standing in her apartment. 

Just like before, but only entirely different.

Mouth agape, all Catra finds herself able to do is stare. She hasn't seen much of her recently, not even in passing, most likely because she's been so busy with her internship but— she looks good. Well. A little tired maybe, though Catra figures everyone is. She's wearing a loose plain white t-shirt and a red bomber jacket to go over the top. It almost makes Catra feel underdressed in her shorts and a hoodie, tank top underneath. Her hair is tied up as always, and honestly, Catra doesn't understand how she can look so—

_ No, don’t get carried away. _

Adora doesn't do anything, she just let's Catra stare, maybe to let her confirm she's not dreaming, maybe because she’s not sure what to say either. She speaks up eventually however, breaking Catra out of her perplexed trance. 

"Hey, I, uh, Scorpia told me you weren't feeling— and I know it's been a while, but I just thought that— well, she asked me to, so I couldn't say no...I hope that's okay?" 

Despite Catra's insides screaming at her for a multitude of reasons, she decides she has to play it cool, at least for now, since she’s so weak right now she’s leaning on her countertop to stay upright. She gives her best, _ 'whatever I’m unimpressed and dismissive’ _ look she can muster, using her sore throat as an excuse not to talk. 

All Adora does is open her mouth to say something, before swiftly closing it again, and turns her focus back to the eggs she is about to make. 

Catra – barely – walks off to the toilet, shutting the door a little more loudly than needed. She goes about her business, then flushes the toilet before going to wash her hands and stare back at the gruesome thing staring back at her. Her eyes are barely open, her face and lips are _ so _ dry, crusty even, and god— her hair is a state. How did Adora not look at her and turn to stone? For good measure, she splashes some cold water on her face. It doesn't make her feel any better. But she knows being sick isn't supposed to be fun or glamorous anyway, so she does her best to shrug the feeling off.

Finishing up in the bathroom, she decides to ignore the kitchen (and Adora) for now, grabbing the remote and heading right to the sofa. She sits in the left corner, positioned upright by the plethora of pillows and throws a blanket over the top of herself. Unsure of what to watch, she retrieves her phone from the coffee table in front of her, puts her airpods in and listens to music while scrolling through Twitter. 

She decides to tweet about her own suffering to her 1569 followers, writing:

@catrahh

_ Love being sick in the middle of the college year :/ _

Her peace is interrupted after about 20 minutes when Adora sets a plate down in front of her. 

"I made scrambled eggs, so it'd be soft with your throat, with some bread on the side too. Oh– let me get you some juice!" 

She races back to the kitchen, and Catra's eyes linger on her longer than they should. 

It's just weird. _ So _ weird. She doesn't understand why Adora's here. At all. When was the last time she'd seen her? 

Catra knows that the last time she saw her during the _ day _ was a over a month ago, at some stupid shopping mall that Scorpia had wanted to go to. Bow and Entrapta ended up talking for what felt like forever, while Catra stood there awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact with her ex. Adora must of shared the sentiment, because they'd barely exchanged any pleasantries but an obligatory, yet near undetectable, _ ‘Hey’ _ and _ ‘Bye’. _

Their nighttime encounters were worse however. Which is probably what made the day time ones so uncomfortable. It’s those fucking _ college parties— _ practically everyone and their mom is invited to them. 

The most recent was a couple weeks before the shopping mall trip, and Catra was constantly being told by her therapist that she needed to socialise and get out more; so when some kid she barely talked to asked if she'd be going to the upcoming party, for once she was inclined to say yes. Although, her therapist didn't exactly recommend (or approve at all) of her drinking and was not pleased when she had mentioned it to him. When she got low, she could…abuse alcohol, _ a little. _ But, Catra decided, she was in a much better place than before, and drinking in a friendly party setting compared to drinking alone in your apartment, or at some shifty bar, or with the intent to get _ blackout _ drunk was _ completely _ different. 

It definitely is. 

Catra _did_ get pretty shit faced, but she talked, danced (with strangers!) and actually had a really good time. Some girl started flirting with her, and after about an hour, her drunken self had decided to go in for the kiss. It had been her first kiss since the breakup, and although it wasn't amazing, it was nice, and she'd forgotten how good lips felt: the softness; the warmth that spread to everything nook and cranny of her body; the wet smack sound as they parted and heat of her breath against hers– and then she was remembering how good _Adora's lips_ _had_ _felt,_ but this wasn’t her, this was—

Adora? She was there, at the party. Out of the corner of her eye, Catra had spotted her. She looked like she had just walked into the room, looking like a lost puppy if anything, and while she was scanning the room she must of seen Catra with this girl, she must have, because– she walked out again. 

It may have been the alcohol, but Catra’s heart had soared and crashed all in the same second.

_ Why the fuck is she walking out?_   
  


It had confused a blurry brained Catra, but she still had enough sense (or arguably none at all) to follow after her. That night she remembers being cold– yes, _ cold, _ and a little dizzy as she jogged outside to catch up with Adora. 

When she found her, she didn't really know what to do, so she went with her somewhat signature greeting, sounding as smug as possible, to capture her attention. She remembers how she sighed at it, but turned around to face her anyway, taking in Catra’s appearance: messy, ruffled hair, a red leather jacket and rock band t-shirt. That night, Adora had gone for the more, _ 'I'm obviously a lesbian', _ look — plaid and a varsity jacket, nevertheless Catra had still wanted to say she looked good. She didn’t though.

Instead, they stood there in silence, for who knows how long, before Catra took one step forward, jumbling up her words, (she thinks she was trying to say _ ‘why are you here’) _and then vomited no more than an inch away from Adora's pristine white shoes. 

"Ugh! Catra, how drunk are you?" She remembers her saying. 

_ Hopefully drunk enough. _

Prepared as always, she had some tissue on her, so she steadied Catra to her feet (she had wrapped an arm around _ her waist) _ and carefully wiped her face clean, like all the bad had never happened. It had.

_ That night was just a blip, _ Catra reminds herself. 

They started walking, and when Catra asked where to, Adora said softly, arm still around her small frame, “a convenience store babe, you need some food and water.” 

Catra _ hopes _ that her brain isn’t just making things up. Or maybe she hopes it is. 

Once they got there, Adora still didn’t let go, at least, not immediately. Drunk Catra had gotten so used to it that once Adora detached herself from her, she let out a little whine, as if she was a five year old who's favourite toy had been taken away when Adora told her to wait outside while she went into the store.

Afterwards, they sat on a bench nearby, and Adora watched as Catra gulped down most of the water, eyes never leaving her face. Catra quickly ate the sandwich Adora had bought too, and once she finished that, there was no noise but the few cars that passed, the whistling of the wind, and the occasional barking and screeches of a stray dog chasing after a cat. 

Even nearly sober, Catra was still feeling a little impulsive, so she was the one who stepped over the line, and asked “why'd you help me tonight?”

“I wasn't going to leave you back there like that.” Adora fiddled with her hands, eyes finally leaving Catra as she chose to glance down at the ground.

She nodded, slowly. Of course she was trying to play it off as a good deed from _ Altruistic Adora. _ Fine, if she wanted to play it that way. 

“Why'd you walk out?”

Adora let out a small sigh. She still didn't look up. 

“Why?” Catra's voice wasn't soft anymore, it had an edge to it, as if it were a warning, an indicator of the rising tension, for not only Adora, but herself too. Once more, Adora said nothing. Groaning, Catra took Adora's chin in her hands, careful not to use too much force, as she tilted her head up. It had worked, but also startled Adora so much it was as if she'd seen a ghost (most definitely the ghost of the past).

_ “Why, _ Adora?” Repeating it a third time, Catra was determined to get answers. When she saw Adora was about to speak, she dropped her hand back to her side, which now felt like it was dangling uselessly on the back rest of the bench. 

“Catra, it's because...it’s just because I– actually no, what do you expect? What do you want me to say Catra? Because, _ fuck, _ I don't know! Emotions are fucking confusing, _ you're _ fucking confusing—”

"What do you mean _ I'm _ confusing? We've not been together for—" 

“That doesn't mean that I can't be concerned!” Adora brought her hand to her temple, leaning back to be at a more respectable distance from Catra. 

Catra couldn't help but soften her gaze. “Concerned?”

_ She still cared? _

_ Even though I— _

“Well, I mean, these parties aren't really your scene. Or at least, they aren’t anymore. And I’m _ sure _ your therapist would say to keep away from alcohol and drugs and you were just _ wasted _ kissing some random girl! Honestly, I didn't know what to do, _ if it was even my place to do anything, _but when you saw me– I guess I thought–I don't know Catra…I don't know.”

Arm still on the backrest of the bench, inching a little closer, Catra said, “Everything is kinda fucked up, isn't it?”

Adora leaned in too, “yeah, it is.”

Catra knew what she wanted to happen next. She just didn't know if Adora wanted that too, if that was fair on her ex, on them— on herself. 

Impulse won out though. 

“Can I fuck things up a little more?” Catra asked, face an inch or so away from Adora's, face close enough to smell the woody saffron scent of her perfume; to see the way her cheeks turned a warm red; to see the few freckles she had on her face; to see the little nicks and scars she'd accumulated over the years, some old and from childhood, others newer. She knew the exact cause for almost all of them, _ especially _ the newer ones.

“Well, if everything is, then it doesn't really matter, does it?” Adora whispered, accompanied with a little smile, dimples peeking through. 

Catra took that as a yes, and, slowly, taking her time to trace Adora's jaw, she leaned in and closed her eyes and finally— 

Buzzing. Adora's phone was buzzing, instantly pulling the two apart, ruining, _ shattering _ the moment. 

They parted hastily as Adora went through her pocket for her phone, answering the call. “Hey Bow! Yeah, no, sorry, I just got a little,” she paused, side glancing Catra, _ "sidetracked, _ with…"

Catra scoffed as Adora tried to fumble an excuse together, only _ slightly _ bitter that Adora's friends ruined whatever that moment was. _ Maybe, _ she thought, _ it was for the better. _

_ I’m no good anyway. _

By the time she zoned back into the world around her, Adora had hung up, getting up off the bench. 

“I, um, have to go, Glimmer and Bow are picking me up, but, if you want, I could, uh... call you an Uber?”

_ Leaving again, of course. _

Catra stood up too, shaking her head, breath just a touch too heavy. “Nah it's fine, I can walk.”

Adora examined her once more, still as concerned as she had been before, unconvinced. “You sure?”

_ No, I’m not, please don’t go, please, not ag— _

“I'm sure.” 

“Okay,” Adora sighs.

“Okay,” Catra echoes. 

There's a pause, a beat, an obvious opportunity to say something, do something, _ anything— _

Another buzz. 

“That's my ride, I guess I'll, uhm, see you around?” Are the choice of words Adora went for in the end. 

“Yeah, see you around,” Catra gave her a small wave as she started to walk in the opposite direction, body twisted while she watched Adora go. 

_ See you around. _

Catra supposes that was a fair promise. They would see each other around. They _ did _see each other around. But, since that night, they never bumped into each other alone, never alone, so now having Adora in her apartment again seemed like quite a leap. 

Adora re-enters the living room, juice in hand, and an array of packs of medicine. She places them all down on the small table, and Catra instantly goes to grab the cold and sore throat pills. Unexpectedly, Adora bats her hand away, which makes Catra screw her face up, annoyed. Then she remembers how meticulous and orderly Adora was about things when she used to get sick. 

“Nu-uh, food first, you know you can't take that on an empty stomach.”

Desperate to show her discontent, Catra crosses her arms, mouthing,_ ‘fuck you’_ slowly as she picks up her plate and starts to eat her lukewarm scrambled eggs. Every forkful that goes down her throat is pure agony, scratchy and void of taste, and although the orange juice is actually tastable on her tongue, the way it burns down her throat like vodka is not a trait to be desired. She supposes it’s better than nothing.

Adora sits on the arm chair, as far as she possibly can be while being in the same room, as if weary, watching Catra almost religiously as she takes a bite out of the brioche bread. She does her best to ignore the near burning stare that she's not been under in what feels like far too long. 

In the end, Catra only finishes half a slice of bread and a quarter of her eggs, but Adora seems happy with it, so she pours her some more juice and hands her two pills and sets a little cup of cough syrup aside too. 

Begrudgingly, Catra swallows the pills, and then throws back the syrup quickly after, washing the sub par taste down with the vodka-like orange juice. Adora puts her food back in the kitchen, putting a lid over it, _ ‘just in case’. _ She comes to sit next to Catra for the first time today, and there's a little incessant part of her brain that wants it to mean something. 

“How are you feeling? Scorpia didn't really give me too much detail about your symptoms.” Adora leans in, examining her, and it makes Catra want to shift in her seat, squirm even. It feels wrong her being here.

Catra's throat doesn't astronomically hurt, but she doesn't need it to get worse, so she's still refusing to talk, and points at her throat to get that across to Adora, frowning. 

“Oh, right,” Adora pauses, thinking. “Could you type it out to me? Like, in a message?”

At that, Catra freezes. As odd as it was, one place Catra avoids is her messages. More specifically, her messages with Adora. Their breakup had been anything but smooth sailing. In fact, it had been such an intricate web of mistakes, miscommunication, and near unsolvable issues that for a while, it was unclear whether they were actually broken up or not. 

Until she got _ that _text. Which she couldn't bring herself to delete. Not back then and not now. 

It was 5:40, on an early Saturday morning when she heard the ping of her phone and read this message:

** _We can't be together anymore, it's not good for either of us. We’ve both made some bad choices, but now we have to live with it. I wish you the best, and _ **

** _I'm sorry, Catra._ **

It still hurts. Despite everything. Despite how far she's come since then, how she's doing better now. Sometimes Catra wants to tear herself down for feeling that way, for letting herself ache, cry over it, but she's learnt that she's allowed to do that. _ It's okay, _ she tells herself. 

When Adora realises that for whatever reason Catra doesn't want to do that, she thinks of another solution. “How about I ask, and you just nod?” 

Catra knows there's no point fighting Adora on this (or anything) seeing as she's the one who's ill, and Adora is here on her own merit, making sure she's okay. She can't lie and say she doesn't feel a touch of resentment because of the recent tension and increased awkwardness between them, but so far, Adora's been fine, so she decides that so can she. 

She nods, and Adora gives her a little smile in return. A smile she misses more than she wants to admit.

—

The next hour or so is mostly silent, save some of Catra’s hacking and coughing. It's odd, being so content with everything, with her being here, despite how their unresolved history wafts through the air like an incredibly wretched smell. Surely, the peace won’t last, Catra figures. Surely, she’ll do something to ruin it, or Adora will poke at an old wound. 

Then, Catra reminds herself that Adora is just here to help her recover, and that there's no way she still cares, or thinks about all of that.

_ She’s moved on, and you haven’t. _

The paranoid, overthinking side of Catra's brain disagrees with that sentiment through and through. Every once in a while, (every couple minutes) Catra looks up from her phone, from whatever video she's watching, to check on Adora. Well— she isn't exactly checking on Adora, if anything it's the other way around. Nevertheless, as she steals glances at her every so often, sometimes it feels like Adora is doing the same. Checking _ on _ her, of course, but maybe…

No, no. Catra isn't going to delude herself. She's not. So she focuses on her video, not Adora, which is hard to do when her head is pounding, and throat is too dry because she refuses to drink water now that the juice is out, because it hurts, it hurts, it— 

She keeps sneezing too. Every couple minutes she seems to be having a fit of sneezes, some loud, some quiet and meek. She's surrounded by tissue, a box of it a reachable distance away, hidden somewhere beneath her blanket, the assortment of pillows, somewhere on the sofa. 

Adora doesn't move from the chair. Not unless it's to go to the bathroom, take the occasional call (Catra wants to say it's rude, but–) or get more tissue, more medicine, whatever Catra needs. It reminds Catra of when she used to get sick, and how Adora would nurse her back to health; back when they were still together, when everything was worse yet better. 

_ Altruistic Adora. _

And for a couple seconds, Catra lets herself reminisce, more than usual— her therapist says it's good for her. To recall the good times. Like how she'd tuck her in, whisper soft and sweet nothings, and with a kiss on the temple, she’d drift off and dream of angels and heaven and _ perfection— _ it was pretty much how she saw Adora, in those moments. Her _ angel, _ her protector from all evils, her princess who could do no wrong, only— 

(“No one is perfect Catra, everyone has flaws, things you may not like about them. That does not make them terrible people however. In life, there is nuance to everything. Just like in art, how you can use many colours, it is not just black and white, good and bad, there is blue, green, red– mistakes, miscommunication, external issues can all affect our relationships. Do you understand?”)

_ Everyone has flaws. _

Trying to reel her thoughts back in, she selects a time from her memory that won’t trigger a slew of bad, so she goes back further, she goes back to the memory of a blissful few days she still yearns to go back to. 

A school trip. They must of been fourteen years old. It was Adora’s first time on a plane (Catra has been on one more times than she can count), and there were no adults next to them to police them, only other teens, giddy and excited, though they were largely ignored— the two were far more consumed in the movie they were watching together. 

As they leaned into each other, sharing an earphone, snacks in Adora's hands, Catra had never felt so carefree and calm in her life. 

The journey had been around 9 hours, so after the first few, Adora had grown tired. She rested her head on Catra's shoulder, and intertwining their hands, fell asleep. Catra felt her heart pound so fast it had felt like she was on a cliff about to fall for her death, not in the company of the only person she’d ever fully trusted. At fourteen, Catra obviously knew all about crushes, relationships, sex, and had known for arguably _ too _ long. What she had only recently realised, was that all those things could apply to _ girls _ as well. That’s when the realisation of her feelings for Adora had hit her over the head like a heavy cement brick. Since then, things have been...more complicated to say the least. _ Especially _ in moments like this.

Adora confused her. To varying degrees, but nevertheless, she was never able to pinpoint exactly what all the small nudges and soft smiles meant. If it were anything else, Catra would be able to tell, reading her like the palm of her hand, but not when it came to crushes, relationships, and all these ‘_ feelings’ _ mumbo jumbo. Though, sitting on that plane, nothing but the next few fun filled days ahead of them, with Adora snoring lightly and her hands still firmly clasped in Catra’s— she closed her eyes too, deciding to ignore everything and everyone around them and only be with Adora.

Catra can now smile fondly at that memory, after months of it being one of the many memories triggering a spiral of never ending sadness and the fear of never finding something like that again, of forever being—

“How are you feeling?”

Getting unwillingly taken out of her thoughts had always agitated Catra, moreso with someone who knows her well enough to know better. Maybe it’s more accurate to say _ once _ knew her. 

Scowling at Adora to convey this, she nods slowly, giving her a thumbs up, still refusing to use her voice. It’s clearly starting to get to Adora that she hasn’t been able to have a full conversation with someone in hours. Catra can’t lie and say that doesn’t bring her some amount of satisfaction. 

Adora gets up from her seat, hopefully not to sit next to Catra again, and to Catra’s delight (or frustration) she doesn’t, instead she towers over her, looking down and closely examining her like a spec of bacteria under a microscope, searching for symptoms, Catra guesses. 

“You don’t look like you’re burning up…” Adora mutters, voicing her thoughts aloud. 

For a second, Catra is afraid Adora’s going to touch her. It would just be to check her temperature of course, but she hasn’t had physical contact with her since _ that _ night, after the party, and the aftermath of it was not great. Explaining it to her therapist was even worse. However, Catra rationalises, her adverse reaction was only because—

  
  


(“Repeat after me: Her leaving was not my fault. Her leaving was not her fault. It was just circumstantial.”

“Her leaving...was not my fault, not her fault...it was just–”)

_ It was just circumstantial. _

Adora peers over at the coffee table behind her and notices Catra’s empty glass. 

“Do you want some more orange juice?” She asks, already grabbing the glass, assuming Catra’s answer. 

Biting the inside of her cheek, she's reluctant to accept the assistance, even if that’s solely what Adora is here for, though she forces herself to nod when Adora looks back at her.

Catra hears Adora curse in the kitchen, before she comes back to say, “it’s out already, isn’t it?”

Thinking for a second, Catra now remembers that just a few minutes ago she was internally complaining at that, so how it slipped her mind so quickly is almost impressive. Clearly, her illness is getting to her. 

“Shit,” Adora sighs, “why didn’t Scorpia get more than one carton? Orange juice is practically equivalent to drugs when you’re sick.” She buries her face in her hands, groaning some more, and although it shouldn’t be, it’s all quite entertaining for Catra.

Tapping her foot on the ground, she reaches for her phone on the chair. “I’ll have to get some then, you’ll be okay on your own for like fifteen minutes, right?”

Immediately, Catra protests— she can’t have Adora spending money on her, going to the shops for her, getting orange juice _ for her. _ So, she shakes her head, slowly mouthing _ ‘Don’t bother’, _ but inevitably, Adora refuses to back down.

“Seriously, it’s fine, I need to get a thing or two as well, so it’s just killing two birds with one stone. Also, you _ have _ to drink something Catra, especially when you’re sick.”

Catra wants to roll her eyes, to disagree, but hearing Adora say her name, so soft and far too concerned, she internally grunts and begrudgingly gives in, turning her attention back to her phone. Just as she’s about to leave, she shouts out one more thing before heading off, so absent mindedly, void of any malice or ill will, yet—

“Text me if you need anything!” Adora says before slamming the door and leaving Catra to flinch. 

_ Text. _

She can’t text Adora. Not with _ that _ still there, looming over her. Despite how far she’s come, she still can’t delete it, forget those words. Everything else, she had dealt with, had talked about in great lengths, but this— her inability to get rid of this, to move on, was her one hamartia. Or at least that’s what her therapist says. Catra can’t let go of those words, of _ her _ words because those words on that glowing screen were the ones that broke her, or more accurately, damaged her already broken psyche further, and for whatever reason she still needs to remember that, to cling onto it. 

And today the universe seems content in once more bringing it into the spotlight. Usually, a reminder of this would result in Catra getting as far away as possible from her phone, or, in the worst cases, getting her phone away from her, by breaking it. It had only happened once, but after the amount she had to pay to get her cracked iPhone screen fixed, she vowed to stick to just (gently) throwing it into a drawer when she felt the past (the messages _ she _ refused to delete) overwhelming her. But today, so many rules have already been broken, that Catra thinks there’s no harm in trying something new, something brave. 

_ Wow... _her therapist would be proud.

Selecting the messaging app, she feels her finger shake as she scrolls all the way down to _ her _ unsaved number. She lets out a breath, then taps it. 

There it is, the message glaring back at her. She remembers it, even without looking, word for word. Her breath feels heavier now, though surely it’s just her sickness. One long press, and it’s highlighted.

** _We can't be together anymore, it's not good for either of us. We’ve both made some bad choices, but now we have to live with it. I wish you the best, and_ **

** _I'm sorry, Catra._ **

_ She had left me for good. _

Just one more tap, then it would be gone. 

_ But she’s here now. _

That thought alone is somehow enough. Even though Catra isn't supposed to be getting her hopes up about Adora, about Adora returning to play a main role in her life— this must mean something, right? 

She presses delete. A breath she doesn't realise she's been harbouring is let out, then she starts to type a new message. 

_ hey, make sure to get two cartons of juice and I'll pay you back later _

Instantly, Adora texts back. 

**Already on it, and no :)**

Catra can't help but smile at Adora's unwavering stubbornness. It's comforting to know she's not completely different to how she remembers her. She has clearly matured, learned a thing or two. But deep down, she is the same old Adora that Catra has known since the beginning of time. 

—

Adora ends up taking a little longer than Catra expects, but really, the only reason she notices is the fact that she was pretty much counting the minutes which pass as her head pounds and throat grows drier than a desert. 

It seems as though the universe hates Catra, or at the very least, loathes her enough to make what should be a common sickness a _ melodramatic hell. _

Hearing the front door open was almost enough for her to jump up in happiness. But she's ill, and there's no way she's letting Adora believe that she missed her— yep, _ no _ way.

“Hey!” Adora says, voice bright. It sounds like the fresh air did her good. 

_ Or rather, getting away from me. _

Absentmindedly, Catra waves in reply, trying to hide her eagerness to get some liquids and medicine in her system, as she figures it could easily be interpreted as something else, which doesn’t need or want to deal with. So, she waits with all the patience she can muster, and sits a little more upright as opposed to before Adora came back. After an eternity (or at least that’s how long her head hammering away makes it feel) Adora re-enters the living room, orange juice and pain medicine in hand. 

She sets it down before taking a long look at Catra for like the _ fiftieth _ time today, which still unsettles her, though not as much as earlier. 

“Headache?” Adora asks, once again already knowing the answer. The two have known each other for so long that they knew all their tells, all the little things that go unnoticed by others. For Catra, when she gets headaches, her jaw would clench and eyes would squeeze shut in hopes of opening them and the pain being magically gone, nails digging into palms— or anything really. The fact Adora still remembers is something to...take note of. _It’s_ _no big deal, _Catra tries to tell herself, only it’s clearly not working, as her brain is still reeling with a million thoughts of how_ this could mean something. _

Catra nods, looking up at Adora fully instead of her phone for the first time since she’s gotten back. At that, Adora starts to pour her juice (Catra wants to say she can do it herself, but she’s already started and–) and hands it over along with two pills. 

“Here,” She says, then goes to sit on the other end of the sofa, which Catra _ obviously _ pays no attention to. _ At all. _

Desperate to feel a semblance of normal again, Catra quickly gulps down the orange juice along with the two pills, and although her throat is still irritable as hell, and that burning feeling is back, it’s better than nothing— in fact it’s _ amazing _ after having no liquids for an hour or so when she feels like this. It’s so amazing that she lets out a little moan of satisfaction, the type people let out when first tasting a gourmet meal. For Catra, her gourmet meal is a glass of orange juice and some pills. 

Adora lets out a little giggle as she does, and Catra scowls, but she can't blame her, that being the first thing she’s heard from her since getting here. It’s a little funny, even Catra can admit, so she lets it slide. And maybe, _ just maybe _because Adora’s reaction is slightly cute too. Only slightly. 

Searching for the remote, Catra decides to put something on the tv that they can both watch, so she goes searching for a lighthearted cartoon that she’s sure Adora’s already seen but most definitely rewatches anyway, when she says—

“Hey, have you seen Call me by your name before?”

Catra has the book in fact, so that’s pretty much the same thing, and she should just nod like she has been doing, especially when that book is her _ one _ weak spot, the one book she can cry because of with no contest, which means the movie would probably be worse, yet—

She shakes her head. 

Adora gasps, as if her answer is somehow a personal insult, somehow appalling. “We _ have _ to watch it, it’s so, so good!”

Exhaling loudly, loud enough for Adora to hear, she goes to the search bar to type it in, and after putting in the first word, she finds it. Just before clicking, Adora says, a little quieter than before, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

It makes Catra want to hurl something across the room. 

_ She’s so nice and I’m just… _

Pressing play, Catra looks over to see Adora now relaxing in her seat, eyes shining, focused on the tv screen. From where Catra is sitting, she looks a lot smaller, and the way she’s smiling like a big dork even though the film has barely started is—

_ Don’t start this again. _

Catra is taking up most of the room, legs sprawled out on the sofa, body facing the screen, leaving Adora with pretty much only her little corner. Sitting further up against the armrest of the sofa, she gives Adora a little more space, which she gladly takes, noticing instantly as Catra shifts, mumbling a thanks.

They are about twenty minutes into the movie, watching in silence, spare Adora’s comments every now and again, which at first piss Catra off, though now, she’s adjusted and it feels just like before.

_ Just like before. _

Catra tries to concentrate on the film, (_ not _ Adora), recalling words, phrases, moments from the book paralleled here, almost enhancing her watching, her insight on the movie; it’s difficult to do with her less than a metre away though, but so far, so good. It’s twenty five minutes in when Adora gets up to pour some more juice for Catra, which she takes; and when Adora sits down, she throws her legs on the sofa – instead of them dangling safely above the floor – which is _ fine, _ though this time she stretches them out a _ lot more _ than previously, or enough so it’s noticeable, which is _ not fine. _ Hyper aware of the fact that their feet are so close that they could brush at any second, Catra’s attention is now split between this predicament and this really good movie. It’s ironic too, because what she figures may occur between the two reminds her of something similar which happens in the book (and most likely the movie, though she’s yet to find out) although under _ mildly _different circumstances. She thinks her circumstances are much worse. 

It’s daunting, unbearable, and she’s intimidated, because it’s nearly been a year since Adora’s touched her (bar the party when she was being a reckless drunk) and she feels like if Adora _ does _ touch her, that it will be the point of no return, the line crossed, the beginning of the end—

(“Things that happen to you may feel like the worst possible thing that could have happened at that time, but you have to remember that even if everything feels out of control, the one thing you can learn to better control is your mind, your reactions. Don’t always listen to your first thought. Stop again, and listen to what your brain says the second time around.”)

_ Listen to your brain the second time around. _

It won’t be the end of the world, it might not even happen, and if it does, then Catra will deal with what comes with it.

_ I have control. _

It’s thirty two minutes in when Adora’s foot finally brushes against Catra’s, and it’s light and could have easily been an accident, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels wholeheartedly intentional, like it’s meant to have an effect. Initially, Catra’s breath hitches, and her foot instinctively moves back, Adora’s foot being ice cold and Catra’s being warm from the heat of her blanket (it has always been like that, hot and cold, yin and yang, polar opposites balancing each other out). Then, exhaling, eyes still on the tv screen, she blindly moves her foot closer, as she tries to find Adora’s again. Clearly, it isn’t ignored, and it’s hard to with all the low level rustling it causes amongst the otherwise silence and voices of Élio and Oliver. This time, her foot just barely taps Adora’s, and she has to fight the urge to recoil from the near icy temperature. She taps the front of her foot, eyes still forward, biting the inside of her cheek, time ticking by slowly as she waits for Adora to accept the absurd invitation. To think this is the first real contact they’ve had in months is—

Adora’s foot moves closer to Catra’s, accepting her touch, and she nudges it a couple of times, as if trying to make a point. Catra looks over to see her wearing a grin on her face, and she’s positive it’s _ not _ because of the movie. In retaliation, she presses into her foot a little more, with more pressure, being more bold and when she glances over, she can see Adora’s smile has faltered, which makes it hard not to smirk in triumph. Not backing down from the challenge though, Adora tries once more to get a reaction out of her, rubbing back and forth on her heel a couple of times, and it’s _ impossible _ to ignore, so Catra turns to face her, eyebrows raised in a rendering question. It’s only once Adora turns to look at Catra too that both grins are washed away and replaced with—

Ringing. Catra’s phone ringing is the most perfect opportunity for her to escape the situation, and Adora seems to realise that, instantly withdrawing her foot as Catra picks up her phone. Missing her cool touch, Catra emits a small sigh and a slight roll of the eyes as she sees Entrapta’s caller ID on her screen. Despite her throat still hurting, she answers the call anyway since even when she does have a functioning throat she barely gets a word in when Entrapta calls. Phone in hand, she pauses the movie and then brings it up to her ear. 

“Hey Catra! Scorpia told me you were sick and that you can’t talk but I thought I’d call you up to see how you’re doing because it’s been a while, right? Scorpia said it’s been a while. Anyway, we’re out of state right now and there’s lots of people here that are really interesting, and are super interested in my research so I’ve been collecting data on them, it’s so fascinating! Anyway, get better and if Adora’s there tell her I said hi!” The call ends.

Glancing up again, she notices how Adora’s practically hugging her legs, as if she’s afraid she won’t be able to control them otherwise. Catra gulps down and it hurts, and she wants to say something, but she isn't sure what. Adora saves her the trouble. 

“You, uh... should probably get some rest. It's the best way to recover. And I could, um, make some food while you're napping?” She struggles to look at Catra, more focused on her phone screen as opposed to directing the words at her. Great. 

_ Now she doesn't even want to be near me. _

Despite the tide in her mind that desperately tries to pull her into the mindset that she isn’t wanted, that it _ is _ true, she pushes back, even if it feels like it does little at all. Opening up her phone once more, she types out a message while Adora watches curiously, waiting for some sort of response, or another one of her nods.

Adora’s phone pings.

_ nu-uh, food first then sleep _

Catra sees Adora’s lips turn upwards a little, and just that small gesture makes her feel like she hasn’t screwed everything up. 

_ Yet. _

Adora springs to her feet and says, “fine. I’ll make you soup first, then you’re going to rest in your bed for a while. Okay?”

Catra types out another message.

_ Okay (: _

With that, Adora goes to make Catra some soup, (it’s tomato of course, Catra hates most other types) while she continues to watch the movie. Admittedly, her attention wavers massively, and she can’t help but go on her phone and press on the Twitter app. She decides to tweet something extra ridiculous to briefly cast her bad thoughts away and take the edge off things.

_ @catrahh _

_ when your ex is cooking you tomato soup ;) _

Almost instantly, she gets a couple of likes, and some confused comments, but figures it’s better not to give further context, because...what more context is there to give?

When Adora finishes making the soup, with some bread on the side too, it’s around an hour into the film. Catra debates on pausing it while eating, but as soon as Adora hands her tray to her, she sits back down, (this time in the armchair) and immediately throws herself back into the movie like she never stopped watching. Maybe it’s to avoid talking to Catra, maybe it’s just because she really loves this film— maybe both. 

Catra does her best to make her brain shut up about all that while she eats her soup, which is is easier than she expects, because—

_ Wow. _ The taste practically melts into her mouth _ (and it actually tastes of something) _ as she has the first spoonful. Never in her life has tomato soup ever tasted this heavenly, which isn’t to say it isn’t usually good, but _ this _is the best thing she’s had in weeks – though that’s probably because most college students have terrible diets. Nevertheless, the second it goes down her throat, her eyes widen and mouth nearly drops open— it’s warm, and doesn’t burn, it’s smooth, and doesn’t irritate her throat, it has flavour, which she can actually taste! Is Adora a witch? Because Catra thinks this might as well be a healing potion. 

_ “Mmmh,” _ is the second thing Adora hears from her today, and is once again, from the satisfaction of consuming some sort of food and/or beverage. 

It instantly pulls Adora out of the immersive world on the tv, and now all her focus shifts to Catra. “Enjoying that are you?” Adora asks, eyebrows raised, and smile forming. Not even trying to hide her eagerness, Catra nods several times, making a small laugh spill from Adora’s lips. 

_ Seriously, did Adora always cook this well? _

“Well I’m glad,” she says, still watching Catra intently, “I added a little more flavour to it in hopes you’d notice, which you clearly did.” 

Catra can’t, and has no intention of arguing with that, so she only bops her head once more before Adora continues. 

“I really didn’t add much though, just some herbs and a little spice, though I’m glad you like it.” It was clear Adora had been working on her cooking skills since their breakup— Catra hadn’t called her princess back then for nothing. 

Adora’s attention is back to the movie again, until Catra finishes her meal and places the tray with the completely empty bowl onto the coffee table. _Way_ _better than breakfast, _Catra concludes. _Astronomically_ better, as now things with Adora aren’t as awkward and icy (on her part) as before, and the soup Adora made apparently works miracles, because Catra’s throat barely hurts anymore. That could have been the medicine too, but… it’s mostly the soup, she concedes.

Taking her tray back to the kitchen, Adora comes back and sits on the couch rather than the armchair, and Catra feels warmer— must be the soup. 

“How are you feeling now?” As always, her voice is soft, full of concern. Catra wants to hate it.

_ But I don’t. _

“Better...a lot better actually,” talking for the first time in hours is strange, especially when she’s talking to someone she never sees anymore. It makes it extra odd. Expectedly, even Adora seems taken aback at her effectively communicating with her for the first time today. 

Something else lingers on the tip of her tongue, something, which frankly, she should have said hours ago, and just when she thinks she can do it—

“That’s good. Try not to use your voice though, it’s still recovering after all.” She pauses. “Oh, and remember what you said you’d do?”

Rolling her eyes, Catra is able to reply with sarcasm_ out loud _ for the first time today. “Yes, I do Adora, I know it’s _ nap time.” _

“Voice!” Adora says, more serious about this than Catra thought. 

Catra is about to tell her to calm down (not nearly as nicely however), but instead, she puts both her hands up, and mouths ‘Okay’, slowly, which works too.

“Seriously though Catra, I doubt you got much sleep last night coming down with this, so it’s important you get some rest now– trust me, you’ll feel even better than you do now.”

She nods, and knows this is her cue to get up, but instead, she worries at her lip between her teeth. Things were getting...comfortable, and she fears that somehow her sleeping will ruin it all. That something will happen, or Adora will realise she doesn’t need to be here or, or—

(“You have to learn that your fears and insecurities are your brains attempt into tricking you to act impulsively or destructively— many people have ‘stupid’ insecurities, but none of them are stupid to us, and in your case, yours feel ten times more the weight. It’s okay to be scared, but what’s not okay is to use it as an excuse, use it as a motivation to do better, stand up to them, prove them wrong by doing the opposite of what your brain in fear mode tells you to do.”)

_ Do the opposite of what your brain’s telling you to do. _

Adora looks at her, almost disquieted, probably a little puzzled, looking back and forth between Catra and the tv, before saying, “I can...pause the movie for when you wake up?”

_ Of course she thinks— _

“Sure,” Catra says, voice low, and starts to gather her things, leaning on the armrest of the sofa as otherwise she’s sure she’d topple over having not been up in _ far too long. _

She trudges over to her room, maybe a little slower than necessary. As she opens the door, she takes one glance back at Adora, who averts her gaze even if it is completely obvious what (or who) she’s looking at. Going to grab her phone to look like she’s doing something, Catra can’t help but smile a little to herself, because she finds it _ so...Adora. _ And just before her door closes, Adora calls out, “sleep well!”

Maybe she will now. 

__

  
  


Having never been good at sleeping, Catra finds it hard to just lie down, close her eyes and rest, even if her body and mind are screaming at her to do it, even if she’s exhausted.

As a child, she was the same, with bundles of energy, and not enough time in the day to burn it all. For a while, they had thought she had ADHD because of her inability to get to sleep, or _ want _ to sleep, but as she grew older, it grew slightly easier— only for it to grow hard again. It was then her ailments that kept her up: the overwhelming near crippling loneliness she often felt; her dreams, (more accurately nightmares); the anxiety of everything, and even the anxiety of sleep itself would get to her. Sometimes it still does.

Needless to say, Catra doesn’t enjoy the act of sleeping much at all. 

However, after sixteen minutes spent on Instagram, and another couple mulling over whether or not sleeping is actually a good use of time (even if she is ill), her eyes grow tired, so she mumbles for Siri to play her sleep playlist, and drifts off soon after.

It pleasantly surprises Catra, and for a second, she fools herself into thinking that it’ll be that easy, that Adora being here won’t trigger her brains’ reflexive memory— when she knows that in the past they have, nearly every time she even glanced at Adora. So _ of course _ their past (and her past mistakes) continue to plague her dreams. 

The first thing she recalls is how her voice tremoured, even before she had broken the news. 

“Catra?” Adora had said as they lay in bed, arm in arm, legs tangled together. 

“Yes princess?” She mumbled into her neck, much more focused on leaving as many kisses as possible on her skin.

“Can we...can you stop for a sec?” Adora was clearly referencing to the kissing, but that didn’t stop Catra from continuing, now sucking and biting, her aim clearly being to leave a mark. 

Groaning in annoyance, Adora moved out of Catra’s touch, having to sit up to do so, which caused Catra’s demeanour to shift drastically. 

_ Why does she hate me all of a sudden? _

“Why are you being like this? What have I done _ now, _ huh?” Catra’s voice had risen, each word spikier than the last, harsh enough to make Adora flinch. 

“Nothing, I just…”

“Just what? Just don’t want me to touch you? To be around you even?” 

_ I wouldn’t be surprised. _

Adora’s eyes widened. “What? Catra, no, nothing like that—”

_ “What, _then?” Catra looked at her, face screwed up and mouth fixed in a frown, expecting something, but Adora was still hesitant to say whatever it was she was keeping. 

“Well, I...I have something to tell you. It’s, um, kind of a big deal.”

“So _ tell me _ then,” Catra replied, voice still laced with venom. 

“I’m…well there’s this internship—”

“No way, you got one of the placements? Princess, that’s _ great _ news!” Catra’s face lit up, and the last couple minutes washed away like a sandcastle on a beach, almost entirely forgotten. 

Then Adora said, “Actually, it’s...the placement is at BMU, you know, the place across the city? So, I’ll be...I’ll be staying in a room on their campus part time too. After this break.”

_ “What?” _

Although she wasn’t looking at her, Catra could tell by her voice there must of been tears in her eyes as she said, “Catra, p-please don’t freak out, it’s not—” she reached out and when Catra felt a hand on her arm, she wrenched out of the grip and got off their bed. 

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me, and do not tell me not to freak out, when you’ve decided to tell me_ less than a week_ before that _you’re_ _leaving_ me for—”

_ “No, _ that’s not fair. It’s not like I can’t see you, stop overreacting and painting me like the _ bad guy _ when you freak out over _ every _ little thing I do!” Adora had gotten up too, voice equally as loud as Catra’s, demanding to be heard as she shouted from the other side of the bed. 

“You think this is little? That this is _ no big deal?” _ Catra took a step forward, challenging Adora, voice shaky as she tried to control the overwhelming urge to erupt completely. 

“No, but–” Adora faltered, though whatever doubts she had in her mind quickly washed away, “but...you _ are _ overreacting.”

_ She thinks you’re unbearable. _

Fist clenched and comparatively quieter than before, Catra said through gritted teeth, “overreacting? _ I’m…overreacting?” _ She takes another step, and another, until she’s right in front of Adora, who’s unable to do anything else but watch, watch what Catra was about to do, though seconds later she breaks the eye contact, only to walk over to her desk, back facing Adora. For a moment, everything is dead silent, until her fingers start rapping on the desk, _ one two three four, one two three four, _then—

_ Crash! _

Pretty much everything that has once lived neatly on that desk had now been thrown onto the floor: books, papers, pot of pens and other supplies hit the floor with a loud _ clatter, _ scattering in all different directions. “Am I overreacting now?” Catra asked, turning around and now moving over to the dresser. Adora moved closer into her space, as if to threaten her, only they both knew it was the other way round. Instead of swatting everything off the surface as she had done before, she picked up a bottle of perfume (whether it was hers or Adora, she didn’t know) and she smashed it _ hard _ against the floor, the impact shattering the glass, and the liquid fragrance leaking all over the floor. “How about now, am I _ overreacting? _ Well am I?!? Am I Adora?” When Adora said nothing, she picked up another one, and it was only then when she moved to stop her.

“Jesus Catra, stop it! Can’t we just talk?” Adora’s voice shook at the later half of the sentence, and Catra’s heart clenched at the futile feeling she was all too familiar with, but–

_ She’s trying to fool you. _

All Catra responded with was a laugh, mind still clouded by hurt and rage, hysteria on the verge of taking over. The only thing clear in her mind was that she needed to get out of here, needed to forget this conversation ever happened, to get something in her system that could let her shut down for a while. She went to their closet to grab a jacket and a pair of shoes, all while Adora stood there, begging then suddenly shouting, though it’s not like any of the words said registered. Everything was too much, her words and the shouting was too much, and the way her blood boiled and the way her vision blurred was—

_ Too much. _

Her head had started to hurt, but she continued on, out of the room; grabbing her keys, her phone; making it out of the door, into the elevator and into the cold. 

_ I could use a blunt right now. _

Determined to foil that plan however, was Adora, who followed her out of the door, set on pushing her to the limit. Adora called after her as she got downstairs, just as she had gotten outside, and it was _ so agitating _that she gave in, turning on her heel and closing the distance between the two of them.

_ “A good guy _ , Adora, wouldn’t do something like this to her girlfriend, wouldn’t act like that isn’t something that could hurt me, wouldn’t be so fucking selfish! So, I think that _ does _ make you the bad guy actually,” Catra snarled, recalling the few words Adora had said that she actually remembered. 

“Catra…” Adora took a step closer, and Catra wanted so badly to run away, to recoil as a hand touched her arm, yet she couldn’t. “You know, I’d never intentionally hurt you. I love you_ so, so much, _ you know that, right?”

_ She loves me. _

“If you really do… then stay.” Like a switch was flipped, Catra’s voice was soft now, transparently desperate, not the guarded, irate voice she had used before. 

“You know it’s not—”

“But I need you Adora, _ I need you, _more than anything, you’re my angel, my protector, so you can’t go, you can’t– you have to– you have to– you, you—”

Adora pulled a sobbing Catra into the crook of her neck, soothingly stroking her hair (something she had grown familiar with doing when Catra had similar outbursts, although this had been one of the worst). 

"I'm sorry Catra," she said, whispering close to her ear, "I didn't think...I didn’t think it’d be a big deal, but I’m here, I’m here for you right now, okay?"

_ She’s here. _

“If you want, we can…we can even go to that party you wanted to tonight, spend some time together, have some fun— it’ll be great, right?” 

_ Right. _

The party had been anything but great. At least, by the end of it. 

Catra twists and turns in bed as her brain flashes through the events of the party.

She remembers it all being fine for a while, arm around her girlfriend's waist, drink in hand and laughing along to what were most likely terrible jokes, but nevertheless forgetting, so close to just forgetting. Then, of course, some douche _ had _ to mention it – the internship – and that wave of fury came to pull Catra back in, made Catra realise it was real, not just a bad dream. Her once loose body had instantly stiffened, was far too tense now. Unable to bare more small talk and more talk of Adora's latest _ achievement, _ she slipped away from them, from her; and world starting to spin, she somehow found her way to her regular supplier who so happened to be there; all whilst her head rang on, saying:

_ See? She doesn’t really love you. _

_ She’s leaving you. _

_ Abandoning you. _

_ You’re going to be alone _ _ forever. _

Even after drinking, after smoking, it wasn’t enough, so when someone offered her a little bag with white powder – to Catra in that moment it had practically looked like fairy dust – she took it. 

From there, everything was a blur of colours, sounds, and heavy bass music alongside the incessant pounding of her heart. The rush in her veins as she danced pressed up against another girl (and as everyone watched) was near bliss. Catra _ wasn’t _ alone right now, wasn't abandoned, or being left behind for better things; in that moment she was in the limelight, centerstage, having the time of her life, on top of the _ world, _ she didn’t need—

The look on Adora’s face when she had found her was almost enough to send her heart plummeting. At first it was pure shock and anguish, then red hot blazing anger as she pushed through the crowds and dragged Catra outside by the wrist. 

“Get off me!” She had screamed, but everything was a little fuzzy, like a bad antenna connection, and her movements were uncoordinated enough that all she could do was let Adora pull her out of the crowd of people until they were outside in the cold, the street lights dim and despondent.

The last bit, she remembers the least of, being intoxicated in several kinds of ways. Despite having tried so hard to forget it all, the fragments she can recall still manage to loop over and over in her brain until her head hurts; are still too much to bear.

Screaming, far more than before, so much so she thought her throat would rip in half. Frantic, frantic movements, she was completely hysterical at that point. And Adora— she remembers Adora was too, coming too close, shouting in her face, “You’re too much to handle Catra, too volatile, can’t you just– just for one second, stop being such a _temperamental_ _bitch!”_

_ She doesn’t even want you now. _

_ She never did. _

_ It was _ _ all lies. _

That was her breaking point. 

Everything around Catra seemed to be darkening. She could hear the quickening _ thump thump _ from her chest in her ears and then one memory flashes to the next: one minute they had been standing, then the next there was a shove and Catra was on top of her, yelling (mostly nonsensical things), pinning her down, which turned into gripping harder and harder the more she protested and then scratching, which turned into hitting. Adora had been crying, yes— all she remembers are her choked sobs, her wails. They were cries of pain. “Please, Please— Catra...stop.” She had said, out of breath.

(And when Catra had almost seen sense, had looked down and seen the girl she claimed to love utterly broken, and the blood on her hands, Adora's phone had rung and she had blown up again— “Why am I not important to you anymore!?”)

The next thing she remembers is sirens, which meant someone must have called the police. Shoved into the car, her mind was still racing, body uncontrollably shaking, unsure of what it was she had done. 

Where they had thrown her in (a cell?) had been cold, eerily quiet, and she thought she would never be let out, that she’d rot there forever, for what exactly, it was still a blur, until her father got there, saying he was _ ‘bailing her out.’ _

Getting out was hardly a relief however, not when she was just put in the back of another car. When she had asked where they were going, he said, “to get some help.”

Clear in her mind is the image of white walls. There had been so many of them. White walls and a lot of questions. A lot of questions she couldn’t answer, or didn’t want to. Crying, she remembers begging to go home, for someone, even if she wasn’t sure who, but no one was there. 

_ I’m on my own... _

Weeks. Being forced to look at those same white walls for weeks was the worst kind of torture. It had only been when she was introduced to her therapist that she had finally said more than a couple words or roundabout answers to things. Even at that, the place was still her own private prison, a purgatory. For a while she believed it’s what she deserved back then.

With nothing much to do, nothing much she wanted to do, her mind would easily wander, wander to dangerous places (they had been telling her to try prevent it by occupying herself though she never listened) where she couldn’t help but think about _ her– _ wonder where Adora was, what she was doing, if she knew where Catra was—

_ She doesn’t care. _

_ Not anymore. _

In Catra’s mind, it was arguable that she never did, and a familiar resentment began to bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my fic! Originally, I started writing this when I got sick because,, #relatable I guess and I didn’t have much of a plot for it until I thought of the whole “omg they are exes” thing. Me being me however, couldn’t leave it there, as I didn’t want them to just be awkward exes or something fairly cliche like that, I wanted to play with the idea of this odd dynamic where the breakup they went through was not entirely one persons fault, but how they failed to work as a unit to the point they reached an *extreme* breaking point. If you can’t tell, there’s a lot a little details I’ve put into this too, I suppose to further enhance things lol.
> 
> Plus, despite not knowing what actually happened between them until the end of the chapter (which still leaves out a lot of the build up to that point but otherwise we’d be her all day) I wanted them to have this dynamic where you could tell that what happened was more than meets the eye. Additionally, this fic deals with quite heavy themes, one being mental illness which I did my best to portray with Catra. Hopefully I depicted it right and the implications I made made it clear that this is something she has and still does struggle with. And having Adora back around her could very easily pull her back into a place similar to where she was before, but throughout this chapter she wrestles with that fact and the fact they’ve both changed and therefore things have changed. And I hope I didn’t in anyway romanticise that last part, because Catra’s actions (while explainable) aren’t right and she realises this (hence why she pushed down thinking about it all) and it will be addressed. Also...guess who her therapist is and I’ll post the next chapter early (actually –)
> 
> Okay I could rant about my own fic for a very long time, but I’ll stop there. Hopefully I’ll have the next chapter out in a week or since it’s already written so it’s a possibility, and if that’s the case I’ll see you then!


	2. Sick of saying nothing back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thumb, then finger, two, three, four fingers– a hand flat on the mattress, Catra’s, and Adora’s above it, gripping hers like she had gripped the sheet seconds ago, but different. Always different. A weak whimper escapes Catra’s throat then, vanishing as quickly as it comes, still loud enough for Adora to notice. 
> 
> —
> 
> When Catra wakes up from her seemingly real nightmare, there’s no way to avoid her problems forever, especially when they’re right in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hi! Chapter 2 is among us, I don’t really have much to say other than apologies for the delay and I hope you enjoy, because I certainly enjoyed writing it!

Waking up shaking, Catra struggles to get air to rush into her lungs. She’s coughing and can't stop spluttering, body burning all over, yet shuddering like she’s in the cold. 

Eventually, short and panicked breaths are slow and heavy. She reaches for her pillow, and clutches it to her chest. Her eyes squeeze shut as she tries to wish away the time that she’s just re-lived. 

_ You’re fine now. _

But it isn’t enough.

There’s a small knock on the door. Unsurprisingly, it’s Adora, but as soon as Catra sees her, a drink and cough syrup in hand, her eyes well up with tears, threatening to spill down her face like a waterfall.

Rushing to her side, Adora sets down the items on the floor, kneeling by her bed, looking up at Catra. 

_ Weak, you’re weak. _

"Catra? Hey...hey, babe— don't, don’t cry, what’s wrong?”

Strings pull at Catra’s heart as she hears the unease in Adora’s voice. She begins to cry more. Unsure of what to do, Adora taps the frame of her bed absentmindedly, then asks, “Can I sit?”

Catra nods, unable to do much else, shuffling up to the wall as Adora comes to sit on her bed too, bringing the medicine up with her, leaning on the back of the frame, still an arms length away. Crying less now, Catra starts, or tries to, but she can’t seem to get the words out, it feels impossible, an insurmountable—

(“For many, closure is a good tool to put an end to lingering questions and thoughts in one's mind, for others, all it does is remind them of things you needn’t reminders of. Over due time, you’ll figure out whether you want that closure or not, or whether to move on and look towards the future.”)

_ I need this. _

“You—” Catra stops herself, takes a breath, then tries again. "You just...disappeared out of my life, left." 

From Adora’s reaction (mouth parted and eyes a little wider) Catra realises that isn’t what Adora had been expecting, and for a second she’s scared she’ll shut the conversation down, change the subject, or even _ leave, _ but instead—

"You're not supposed to talk, and...I'm here now, aren't I?" Adora avoids her eyes, fiddling with the cough syrup bottle in hand. Catra watches. 

“I wasn’t well,” she says, mouth dry and words meek. It comes out like an excuse, even though it’s anything but.

"I know.” Adora accepts her words for what they are. “You're not well now either, so stop talking and take the syrup Catra." She hands it to her, and it’s clear if this conversation is to continue, she has to do as Adora says. Casting her pillow aside and unscrewing the cap, she pours a small amount into it. Nose wrinkling at the smell, Catra somehow manages to gulp it down in one go, and once finished she sets it to the side.

“I heard you coughing from outside your room, are you feeling alright?” Adora asks, and Catra almost wants to lie and say she’s great, _ never better, _that Adora can go home and disappear again, but of course—

"It's just, I just...I dreamt about—"

Adora scoots closer. "Everything that happened that night? Yeah, I, um…I do too sometimes. It must be worse for you though, especially because…” she hesitates, then says, “still– you're not supposed to use your voice, you need to fully recover, okay?" 

Even now, Adora is conscious of Catra’s health, and it makes that heart swell once more, despite the part of her that knows it’s Adora’s attempt to shut down the conversation. In any other instance (all those months ago) Catra would have listened, would have let Adora take care of her. But she’s already done enough and Catra can’t keep this in forever.

"We...we haven't talked about it since,” she says through sniffles, and wishes it could have been said with more malice, more grit, instead of this weak, whining cry for help. 

“I know.” Unable to look at Catra, Adora traces patterns in her bedsheets, and Catra can almost see the gears turning in her mind as she thinks of what she’s meant to say to that straightforward yet convoluted statement. “Everyone said– they said to give you space. So you could recover. So...I listened.”

“I _ have _ recovered.” Catra scoffs, eyes mostly dry now, tears nearly forgotten. 

"I didn't know what to do, or say, what was allowed." Adora replies, still apprehensive. 

_ Is she scared too? _

"Neither did I," Catra admits, though she's sure it's already obvious. 

Adora nods. “It was like there were, y’know, unspoken rules that we couldn’t break...then, when we saw each other at the party, we—”

“I broke them. But you did too.” The silence that follows after Catra says this is possibly the most unnerving silence she’s had to sit through in a while. It’s clear Adora’s frozen up, or is lost on what words to say. Either because she doesn’t want to trip up and trigger Catra’s short fuse or—

“You still care,” Catra whispers, bringing her knees up to her chest, head starting to pound as she begins to regret the bold statement.

_ “Of course _ I do,” Adora says, sounding exasperated as she locks eyes with Catra properly for the first time since she's sat down. 

_ Even after everything? _

“I wasn’t well,” Catra replies. Once again it comes out like an excuse for her actions, and she wants nothing more than for someone to beat her over the head with a mallet. 

_ It’s just two words. _

“I know.” 

Almost on reflex, Catra repeats, “I really wasn’t,” despite cursing herself for doing it the first time. 

"I know, Catra,” Adora says, understanding as always, no edge in her voice, no malice, spite, nothing. Even though she has every right to feel these things, in fact it’s much easier if she feels these things– she’d be the villain and everything would make sense and Catra’s head wouldn’t hurt so much and Catra wouldn’t still—

“But I should of…” she takes another breath, “I should of listened. You were right when you tried to help and I should of listened. It doesn't excuse my actions." 

Stunned into silence again, Adora truly looks as if she has no words to soothe the tsunami in Catra’s mind, to rectify months of damage, of pain. 

(“The hardest thing to do is say sorry. Even for me at times. It’s putting down the walls you’ve built for yourself. Walls of upset, hurt, anger. But saying sorry when you’ve done something that feels unforgivable– well that’s the first step to being forgiven. It shows you’re willing to make an effort, to bring your walls down. It _ shows _ you’re willing, but your actions from that point will prove it to them.”)

_ I need to prove myself. _

Closing the lingering distance – _ the lingering tension _ – between them, Catra moves to sit opposite Adora.

“Adora..._ I’m sorry. _ For everything. I wish that– I wish things were different. That _ I _was different.”

Slowly, Adora places a hand on her knee, giving Catra more than enough time to recoil from the touch, to reject her attempt at comfort. Surprising even herself, she doesn’t, and the anxious jittering that's been omnipresent throughout today is replaced with a familiar warmth. It’s calming. “If you were different, then you wouldn’t be Catra.” Adora smiles, small and consoling. “And maybe...maybe this is what we needed. To grow.”

Catra scoffs, “some sick way to grow.” Though she understands what she means. It’s impossible to argue with the fact that when they were still together, Catra was getting increasingly worse, and that frankly, what _ had _ happened was probably one of the better outcomes, even if it had led to months of melancholy, heartbreak and animosity. 

_ Maybe things were always destined to happen this way. _

"I'm sorry too, you know that right?" Adora says, hand still firmly on her knee, unmoving, grounded. 

"Don't be," Catra says gently, because she doesn't have it in her to reject the apology, but also can't force the words out to accept it when it feels so underserved– her brain refuses to acknowledge it. 

_ It can't be that easy. _

_ She _ _ must _ _ resent me. _

_ After all, I resented her. _

Adora shakes her head, not sharing the sentiment. "No, it wasn't right, I should have spoken to you sooner, instead of lurking in the background…" the colour seems to rush to her face at the statement, and Catra can't help but be curious about what she _ actually _ means.

"You lurked in the background?" Catra echoes, unable to keep the perplexity out of her voice. Adora doesn't say anything, she just looks down, the warmth of her hand off her knee now, and Catra figures that's as close as she'll get to an answer. So instead of waiting, she continues, “And no, we needed this time, to figure out...what we wanted." Catra starts to cough which is when it clicks in her head that she’s still sick. Adora watches her with a look of concern, ready to spring to her aid, but Catra shakes her head as to say _ ‘no’, _ before reaching out to take a swig of the water bottle by her bed that had been there since yesterday, forgetting the glass of juice Adora had placed right there. With a sigh, she puts it back down again, and gives Adora a reassuring smile (or as reassuring as it can be considering the topic of conversation) that might look closer to a grimace. 

Unsure of what to say next, Catra looks back at Adora expectedly, who in reply bites her lip (a surefire sign she has _ something _ to say) then tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, before sighing, as if defeated. 

"I never even tried to bring up that night the last time we saw each other.”

_ She thinks this is her fault? _

Catra shakes her head as the words leave Adora's mouth. “I was drunk and definitely wouldn't have let you,” she says, even though it feels like the most obvious, clear thing about this mess of a situation. Catra _ never _ talked about things, or feelings back then, or at least she never wanted to, not before therapy. However, she understands what Adora must be thinking, what she’s probably been thinking for months – what she must of been blaming herself for, what past Catra would have blamed her for – and how much she needs the comfort. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Another sigh escapes Adora's lips. “But still. It's been so long."

For whatever reason, Catra has the hardest time deciphering those last words. Maybe because at first it sounds like something old friends say whilst sitting down over a glass of wine laughing at the _ ‘good ol’ times’, _ and the fact that this is nothing like that; they have seen each other, been in each other’s orbit since _ that _ night; only, they never talked, never interacted past what was necessary, and the one time they did had Catra spiralling after. 

In a way, Adora’s completely right in saying it.

“Yeah...so long,” is all she thinks to say, adding nothing to the conversation, which isn’t exactly fine, but it is when she sees Adora desperate to continue, to let out more of what she’s been keeping in. 

“I wish—” there's a moment of apprehension, “I wish I was there for you. To see you recover. Not...not just from a distance, like a stranger."

Catra wants to say _ 'me too'. _ She wants to shout it out at the top of the lungs, because all throughout when she was recovering she thought of Adora, love or hate – or a mix of the two – she thought of her. Even when she’d stopped (for the most part) every so often something would remind her of the of Adora, or if the gods really felt like tormenting her, she’d see her with new friends and a smile on her face. At first it was like twisting the knife that was already lodged inside her; over time, it numbed, it eased, but that wistful feeling in her chest never left. So to know Adora thought the same thing—

_ She doesn’t mean it. _

_ It didn’t happen so clearly she didn’t. _

(“Don’t give into the negative thoughts your brain will feed you. It’s all to trick you, to push you to do something you’ll regret. Although there may be truth in what your mind is telling you, if the weight of the thought is too heavy, you are better off taking it with a grain of salt, of analysing the situation at hand. It might not always work, but please, when something bad crops up, think to yourself: is this really all true?")

_ No, that’s not the truth. _

“For a while they, uh, said I couldn't see you, go places without someone, for both of our safeties.” Catra thinks back to all the screaming, crying she had done when she was first faced with fact she wouldn’t even be able to message, talk, or interact with her own girlfriend, and how much more she cried when Adora had sent her _ that _ message. The memories that flash into her mind aren’t pleasant ones, so much so a shiver runs down her spine. She knows that’s not what Adora wants to hear, (the small _ ‘oh’ _ she lets out only reaffirms it) as it’s not even what she wants to say, but it came out anyway. Trying again, she continues on. “I didn’t even have my phone. The old guy was pretty careful with who I talked to in the first month or so. But…” she halts, and can’t help but wrap the arms around herself tighter. “But I wanted to see you.

“Despite everything, even though at times I was so angry at everything and I pretty much hated you, and even though you—”

_ She didn’t leave you. _

“—Even though _ I _ was the one who put myself there in the first place and _ needed _ to be there, I wanted...I wanted you there too.” 

After saying that, Catra feels more relaxed, like she’s just lifted a heavy weight off her shoulders, and Adora looks as though she’s relieved too, like she’d been expecting something bad– Catra can't blame her for feeling as such. Though, as always, there’s something more.

Adora moves closer, closer than she’s been all day, but Catra is frankly past caring, which she supposes is a good thing. "Can I tell you something?" She asks.

“Of course,” Catra says with her brows furrowed, face conveying the opposite to what comes out of her mouth.

“Okay,” Adora exhales, and leans back, the look on her face grave, serious..._ distressed _even. Needless to say, Catra doesn’t like it. 

"Remember the message I sent you? You know, when—”

"You broke up with me,” Catra interjects, because _ that _ message, what it had said, how devoid of hope and life it had been to her, had plagued her emotions up until a few hours ago today.

“Yeah...when I broke up with you. I, um, actually wrote a longer message, one that was a lot more...raw I suppose. But, I couldn’t send it. I physically couldn’t, it felt like I’d be sick if I did. Somehow saying a little of something which was hardly the truth was better than me pouring my heart out. Better than hoping. They all told me to cut all ties with you, so you’d be able to focus on yourself, so I could do the same, and what I had wanted to say wasn’t exactly what everyone else expected. But now...I want you to read the message I really wanted to send, so you know what I was really thinking, what I had wanted to say. Is...is that okay?” 

Catra considers whether or not that’s a good idea, whether being propelled right back into the past is in anyway helpful– or if it’s more damaging than anything. But, for the longest time, there’s always been this uncertainty, this missing puzzle piece of why Adora left things off the way she did, that no one, not even her therapist could answer. Only Adora could. 

She gives her a nod.

Relieved, as if she thought Catra would refuse, Adora lets out a breathy, “Alright…” going over something in her head, trying to remember if she’s forgotten something. It’s clear she remembers from how her eyes widen slightly as she gets up to move. “Oh— my phone, it’s in the living room– I’ll be right back.” And she is, but Catra’s heart aches all the same as she sits there, the weight on her bed decidedly less, but the invisible one above her filled with nerves and fears of all that could go wrong, was much more noticeable without Adora’s warm body close. 

Before she has time to let these thoughts stew any longer, Adora plops back down onto the mattress, this time body leaning against the wall, so Catra follows, sitting next to her, knees brushing, eyes intently following each movement. Maybe it’s the fact she’s still so sensitive from her realistic reliving of events in her nightmare, or that Adora just has that effect on her, but it sends little jolts of electricity down her leg. She tries to ignore it. Adora clears her throat, as if to get Catra’s attention, (although she already has it) voice meeker than Catra remembers it being just moments ago as she says, “I guess I’ll start then?”

Encouragingly, with an earnest smile – the most earnest smile she’s given anyone in a while and for Adora in nearly a year – Catra urges her on. 

Taking one last breath before plunging into the deep end, Adora begins. 

** _Catra, first off, I’m sorry I’m not saying this in person, that’s the least you deserve and I can’t even give you that. But I’m starting to realise that there were many things I wasn’t able to provide for you, even when things were all ‘rainbows and sunshine’. What I’m trying to say is...I haven’t been a good girlfriend, I let things go past the point of no return. I failed you and I’m sorry for that._ **

** _My therapist told me that blaming myself for others actions is a bad habit of mine. Especially with you. Maybe that’s why I feel so guilty that I can’t be there for you, even though right now I have no clue where you are. But, she keeps telling me, and I keep telling myself, I can’t do anything about it, and you do have to take responsibility and some agency over your actions. You do. _ **

** _And even though I don’t think there’s anyone in my life who knows me as much as you, who I know like the back of my hand and who I love so much– we can’t keep doing this, we can’t be together while you’re like this, while I’m still like this. I want you, I do, but you’re not what I need, and I’m not what you need. Not right now. In a perfect world, I’d choose you a thousand times over.  
_ **

** _I’m sorry, but I hope this is for the best._ **

After finishing, Adora lets out another sigh, and Catra imagines its her way of gasping for air after being submerged deep underwater– only, the sea they’re in is a sea of heartache, bitterness, lost apologies and promises. She tries to shake that thought off, but it claws eagerly at the back of her mind, the idea latching onto her. Unable to look Adora dead in the eye throughout her whole reading of the text without the fear of exploding into tears (or something presumably worse) she ends up focusing on the dresser opposite her bed, and how the third handle on the left side is so loose one could spin it around. She wishes that getting up and doing so is the socially acceptable thing to do, or literally _ anything _ else to distract her from the way her throat closes up, tight and ready to combust; from the way her eyes begin to water and fog her vision. 

Again, with the silence. This time, Adora reaches out, at a Catra so focused on the dresser in front of her (dangerously close from disassociating from the situation as a whole), that she hardly notices. “Catra…?”

Hand on shoulder (being the third intentional instance of touch today) warm and unyielding, it has the opposite effect to what it should, making Catra stiffen even more as red lights flash in her brain telling her to _ abort!abort! _ but she doesn't listen to them, or listen to the other part of her mind telling her to _ move, speak, anything. _ Stuck in place like a statue, Adora shakes softly, though the attempt is futile at best. When she sees Catra’s knuckles gripping the sheets and how her jaw is wired shut, she lets out a small _ ‘oh’ _ before trying a different approach. 

“Catra, I’m here babe, talk to me,” Adora says, voice tender, whole body facing Catra’s, a little taller as she sits on her knees whilst gently prying one of the clenched fists open. 

The dam starts to crack from there.

A thumb, then finger, two, three, four fingers– a hand flat on the mattress, Catra’s, and Adora’s above it, gripping hers like she had gripped the sheet seconds ago, but different. Always different. A weak whimper escapes Catra’s throat then, vanishing as quickly as it comes, still loud enough for Adora to notice. 

“Catra.” Adora squeezes the hand. Nothing. _ “Catra…” _ she repeats, sounding more like a plea this time, and of course, not even this once, can Catra let her have this.

_ Always selfish. _

Still facing forward, mind and body near numb, she’s unable to stop that first tear from dripping down, (which means there’ll be lots more to come) which is coincidentally the moment Adora also decides to use her other hand to turn Catra’s face to look at her. Her eyes are glistening too; somehow more strands have escaped from her ponytail (she must have run her hands through it while reading the message); her cheeks are rosy, and her expression is...is scarily similar to _ that _ night. Those same whimpers have found their way out of Catra’s throat again, this time with a vengeance, one after the other, after the other, as Adora’s hand still cradles her cheek.

“Don’t...don’t cry,” Adora says, unconvincingly and accompanied with a weak smile in an even weaker whisper of her own. That’s all it takes for the dam to crumble completely and overflow. When those tears finally pour down, her first sob sends shivers down her spine, and it quickly worsens from there. Lingering tension, discussions yet to be had, and the closure wanted on past events are put on hold, rightfully so, as Adora moves completely into Catra’s space; and Catra moves into Adora’s; facing her, finally fully facing her; hand once covered by Adora’s finding her way to her midsection, pulling her close; Adora, still towering over her on her knees, arms wrapping around her neck, and hand stroking her hair as Catra cries and cries, sobs shaking her to her very core, violent, vicious with each one. Adora is crying too yet somehow – Catra knows how – still manages to ground her, to keep her thoughts from venturing too far from the truth. 

_ But she’s crying...I made her cry? _

_ I did that? _

_ Of course I did. _

_ No! It’s not like that I– _

_ Of course I’m messing this up. _

_ It’s all my— _

As those thoughts ruminate in her mind, circling round and round, Adora’s warm body pressed against hers pushes them back down, the scent of her _ summer breeze _laundry detergent on her clothes pulling her out of the near normal cycle, and most of all, Adora’s incoherent babbling reminds her of countless unforgettable moments:

Catra flirting with Adora long before she realised her true feelings, a flustered Adora unable to say anything past a weak _ ‘stop it’ _ at first _ ; _ Adora and her play fighting, just like they did as kids, but laced with thick tension as at that point, Catra had known how she felt, and thought Adora wouldn’t feel the same– needless to say when she had ended up straddling her friend, filled with pride and triumph and Adora was once again tongue tied underneath her, Catra was a little more than perplexed. Then the grande finale, when Catra had finally decided she was ready to face the possible rejection, she shyly asked Adora out on a date, dawdling and tripping over her words– which was one of the only times Catra had been the incoherent one. Luckily for her (though in hindsight it was very obvious), Adora had felt the same. 

And now they’re here, crying in each other’s arms, Catra silent apart from the erratic breaths (she had long exorcised the choked sobs that previously spilled out of her like demons escaping a prison worse than hell), while Adora repeats over and over, hand still carding through hair, “I’m sorry, I’m so – I feel terrible, I should’ve, I should’ve – but you would’ve, and, and they...and they– I’m so sorry Catra, I hurt you, I, I…”

It’s pitiful, laughable even. At least, that’s what Catra wants to think. Instead, her thoughts are closer along the lines of: _ she’s too good for this world. _Anymore listening to Adora’s broken loop of an apology however, and Catra truly believes she may self destruct. Wiggling out of Adora’s tight grip, she looks up at her; the hint of mascara she must’ve been wearing is smudged, and the way the black smears around her eyes reminds her of a panda, and it’s almost enough to make her crack a smile. Pushing her down by the shoulders so Adora is seated on the bed, her left hand moves to hold Adora’s, while the other comes up to her face. Carefully, cautiously even, she wipes a straggling tear from her cheek, and with her lips just slightly upturned, mismatched eyes piercing through sky blue ones, she whispers, “it’s okay now though? Isn’t it?” 

Opening her mouth before closing it again, Adora eyes flit down for a fraction of a second, then says with a small sniffle, “yeah, I think it is.”

For some reason, they both begin to smile at that, naturally gravitating into each other’s personal space, smiles still growing and eyes teasing (it reminds Catra of their moment on the couch hours before) words meaning to be said but them never escaping; they are both too focused on how close their faces have gotten, how Catra’s hand is still on her cheek, now her neck. The smiling is slowly fading, and all Catra can see, smell, is Adora, and her lips are _ right there, _ looking soft and alluring like they always have, like they'll be enough to dissipate all worries, cast away all her doubts. But she’s scared, scared for _ this _ to happen, because it’s all so soon, too sudden, and moments before they'd been crying, and what if she messes up, what if this gesture messes it up? Catra’s about to start panicking, about to spook completely, to push her away and undo it all, because she's not sure it's worth all the trouble, all the heartache and— but then, their noses clumsily bump into one another's, both having forgotten they existed, and maybe it’s a testament to their hysteria, maybe it's a way to ease the tension further, maybe it's because to them this is somehow funny, but they both start to giggle, which eventually turns into full on genuine laughs, _ chuckles _ – Catra can feel Adora’s body vibrate from it – and it goes on and on like that, clutching each other hard, as they cry from something other than their months of pain. 

Eventually, they calm down, sitting beside each other once more, breath as heavy as a runner who’d just finished a marathon — though all Catra’s done is cry and laugh for far too long. She can feel another cough rising, itching at her throat, so she drinks more of the water beside her bed; once she places it back down she looks at Adora who goes to sit cross legged, and Catra can tell she’s itching to speak.

“I...I’m glad I came today.” She says, no doubt full of nerves, but doing her best to keep eye contact with Catra. 

_ Just be honest. _

“I am too,” Catra replies, “albeit not at first,” she adds, and it makes Adora grin a little, so she silently awards herself for doing so. 

“Yeah, you were prickly to be around, that's for sure.” Adora is quick to retort, and Catra feels as if she's been waiting to say that. The light-hearted tone doesn't happen to last long as Adora, shifting in her seat (it's hard not to notice when she's so close to Catra), says in a small voice, “I was kinda worried you'd never come around, or that we'd get close and one of us would shut down once the serious stuff was brought up. If I’m being honest, I nearly didn't come— when Scorpia asked.”

"I don't see why she asked or why _ you'd _ want to." Catra shrugs, cynical side taking over, because: why would anyone, _ especially _ Adora, want to see Catra, and why on earth would they want to see her all cranky and sick? Sounds like more of a death wish. 

“I suppose you’ll have to ask her yourself. But, with me, recently I’ve just, I don’t know, been kind of stuck. With...a lot of things. Then I stumbled onto that message, the one I had wanted to send, and it _ really _ took me back. A day later Scorpia called and it felt like… a chance to make things right– or possibly worse,” Adora chuckles, but it's short and sharp and isn't anything like the laughs Catra had brought out of her minutes before. “Anyway, if anything, I don’t see why you’d want me here.”

Humming, Catra ponders over Adora's words. “I guess I see what you mean,” which is an understatement, as a stream of memories from _ that _ night flow through her brain and the feeling of resentment she had once felt _ all _ remind her of exactly why Adora had been scared that this visit could all go wrong. 

It had only been months down the line when her hot red hate for Adora had mellowed into a more melancholy feeling some days, and a more frustratedly upset one on others. The night she had gotten drunk and Adora had come to her rescue had set her back a couple steps, pushing her mind back to those white walls and the abandonment she had once felt, the anger so strong, so vile, an inferno waiting to ignite— looking back at that now scares her, scares her to think she was once in that frame of mind, scares her to think it could happen again. 

_ You're not there anymore. _

Now if she fears herself going back there, she has a support system, people to fall back on, to talk to when she’s having a particularly bad day, when her thoughts won't settle down. 

"Yeah," Adora replies, "it just felt kind of...like imposing, after all this time, to come in here and pretend like I'd never, y’know...left.”

_ Even _ _ she__’s admitting she left you. _

"No," Catra says, as much to herself as to Adora, "you know it wasn't like that." 

Taken aback (Catra is shocked at her own words too, but she has been for a lot of today) Adora’s mouth parts as she fights the internal battle of figuring out what to say. She manages to settle on: "well, it's...it is weird that I'm back here, considering everything. I mean, it was written all over your face this morning. And, I'm sorry, by the way – for just barging in like this, I wanted to say it before but I never got the chance."

Placing a hand on her knee, Catra says, "_it's fine _ Adora, we've gotten over that," expression soft, eyes full of reassurance that she hopes is getting through to Adora. Though, something else meaning to be said is still stuck in her throat, and she can't figure out the reason why. 

Adora starts rambling on before she’s able to ponder it much longer. “Yeah, I know, but I can't help but feel like I shouldn't be here, that this is me forcing—”

“_Adora.” _ Catra's voice is stern, and her saying Adora's name like that is nearly the same as her plainly saying _ 'stop'. _

“But, Catra…” Adora knows it's futile to argue with her, and the words she has on the tip of her tongue crawl back down and die in her throat. Things are quiet again, and Catra is sure if she starts talking she'll mess it up within seconds, because the line of _ off limit _ and _ allowed _ is completely blurred, so maybe it doesn't matter, though she knows everyone has their threshold— she isn't looking to cross hers (again) or Adora's. She knows they probably will anyway. 

_ Better sooner than later. _

“I never have anyone over anyway. So in a weird way—” _ a very weird way, _ “—it's nice to have some company for once.” She says, figuring she might as well try to wind down the conversation whilst still being as authentic as possible. 

“Isn't Scorpia usually here?” Adora asks, brows furrowed. 

And yeah. She has a point, a massive point. After the incident, Catra's father deemed it _ 'unsafe' _ for her to live on her own, but there was _ no way _ in hell she was moving back home, so her father settled on the next best thing: a trustworthy family friend. Her father and Scorpia's parents were apparently close, and although Catra had no recollection of ever meeting her in her younger years, according to him, they _ had _ at some point, and now this stranger was moving into her apartment. _ For her safety. _ Catra was initially very disdainful of her because of that, but for some reason (because she was the nicest person in the world) Scorpia kept at it, kept trying to knock down the wall Catra had built for herself. Though, knocking _ anything _ down was much too aggressive for Scorpia, and in Catra's mind she had more or less scaled it and reached the top, comforting Catra through her worst breakdowns, reassuring her things wouldn't always be the way they were. Although it didn't always help and at points she had been downright _ terrible _ to Scorpia, (something she still regrets and apologises for to this day) Catra appreciated how Scorpia never gave up on her, even on her darkest days. 

Fast forward to now, and Scorpia had moved out around two months ago to live with her girlfriend Entrapta, though she almost always came over, so Catra was never left lonely for _ too _ long. Despite this, having Scorpia (and Entrapta) the only ones who visited still gets lonely at times. Not the _ I have no friends lonely _ , the _ other _ kind of lonely, that was much more difficult to quell without some use of methods her therapist had told her to stay away from. Obviously, Catra took to _ other _ methods that were less likely to send her spiralling, or at least ones that weren't mentioned in her sessions. Though as always, the gratification would vanish as quickly as it came, like words written in the sand taken by the tide.

Needless to say, Adora is a clear change in pace, in fact, she is an _ extreme _ change in pace, one that Catra was struggling to keep up with. Not that she isn't going to try. 

“Yeah, but...it's not the same, y'know?” Catra says, looking at Adora with knowing eyes, hoping her implications would get through to her. 

“I get it. I have Glimmer and Bow, and my other friends, but sometimes their company isn't...enough.” Adora says slowly, as if she's unsure whether it's what she should be saying, if it's allowed. 

Before Catra's brain can even catch up with her mouth, she asks, "you never dated?" And the regret instantly sinks in. Just as she's about to apologise profusely for how out of term she was, she's stopped in her tracks.

Adora shakes her head, lips nearly upturned in a smile but closer to a grimace. “I did. But something was never right, and eventually...I figured out what.”

Heat dances on Catra's cheeks, and she knows what she hopes the answer is but doesn't want to set herself up for disappointment. 

_ But, it could be anything. _

"What?" She finds herself asking anyway, mouth a little drier than before, but it must be because she's still sick, right? _ Right. _

Casually, Adora let's out the next statement as if it were fact. “They weren't you.” she answers with a shrug. 

All Catra is able to say – with Adora across from her doing her best to feign nonchalance – after hearing one of the _heaviest_ hitters of this conversation is: “Oh, okay.” And she wishes to say so much more, she wishes she could spill her heart out and say _ ‘I totally get that’, _ or _ ‘that's the same for me’, _ or, _ ‘I'm still in—’ _

But she can't, she's too far behind, she's still processing, and she hates that, because Adora feels – _ is _ – a million miles ahead of her, and she wishes it could be easy, that she could be easy on herself, that she could let Adora hear what she wants, no, _ needs _ to hear…though she just isn't there yet.

Adora seems to understand that, even though (as always) she's given much more than Catra ever has, but she doesn't seem to mind, because she puts on the same act as before. “Yeah, so I just stopped dating all together, focused on college and stuff.”

This time around, Adora is much more transparent, her act being a lot less believable for the second time, a lot quieter, somber, and a little something else she can't put her finger on. Catra doesn't comment, because if Adora doesn't want to talk about it, why should she? They have to be on a level playing field. 

Catra grabs her phone off her bedside table, checking to see how much time they've sat here engrossed in each other and each others words. Late afternoon. They had been talking for nearly three hours, as if it had been nothing. Both are still complete messes, Adora's makeup dried and Catra’s face in desperate need of washing the dried crust on her face. 

“Wow,” Adora groans as she stretches her arms behind her back. “We've been talking for ages.”

Catra nods, agreeing. “We have.”

At this point, a small part of Catra's brain thinks this is it, this is where she leaves. It's a clear escape route out— one white lie to get out is all she needs. _‘I need to pick Glimmer or Bow up, sorry, bye!’ _or something as simple as that could be her _get out of jail free card,_ yet somehow, somehow, for once she doesn't believe it.

“Do you want to...go to the living room or something? It's a lot more comfortable than your bed, no offense.”

Catra can’t help but grin, and she can feel it becoming a habit again very quickly. “Sure, lemme just go to the bathroom first, maybe grab a shower.”

The two both get up, heading out of Catra's room, and back to where they had been before, only now, with a renewed outlook on each other, and everything, especially compared to this morning, _ especially _ for Catra.

Adora ends up using the bathroom first, most definitely to clean her ruined makeup, maybe to reapply some more. Though, she isn’t so sure, as Catra can feel Adora’s eagerness to keep the conversation going, to keep things from getting stale— she doubts it’s possible with the amount of shit they have to cover. Turns out, her guess is right, as only five or so minutes later Adora is back, sitting down on the opposite side of the sofa. 

“Thanks,” she says, accompanied with a smile of course.

“No problem,” Catra offers a small smile back before studying Adora for a split second. She has clearly cleaned the mascara off, not bothering to reapply. Catra never saw the need for it anyway– Adora already looks stunning without it. Expecting her brain to chide her for even thinking that, Catra is practically amazed when there’s no little voice in her head condemning her for thinking such a thing, for going _ back there. _

Getting up a little too quickly, as an attempt to escape the awkward silence, Catra then walks over to the bathroom door, turning to look at Adora just as she’s about to go in. “Hey, uh…” she starts, suddenly stuck on what to say. She glances over at the TV before facing Adora again, then decides on something that’s light, friendly. “Feel free to put something on, I shouldn’t be too long.” 

Lips upturned once more she says, “Sure,” going to grab the remote probably out of courtesy more than anything. 

Catra shuts the door behind her, not bothering to lock it as her forehead meets the cold door, letting out a sigh. It could be her illness and general weak immune system that is making her feel so tired right now, even after a (not so restful) nap, but Catra thinks it must be also be due to all the talking, and most significantly— the emotional exhaustion. Having to be brought right back to the past, all her former mistakes, and all the hurt she once (even still) felt isn’t an easy feat. 

_ And I still did it anyway. _

Getting rid of her two day old clothes and stepping into the shower, Catra lets her mind go blank for the next few minutes, momentarily washing her problems and her heartache away, letting it rise up with the steam, and turn into nothing more than condensation. She slips out of the shower not too long after, body initially shivering at the drastic change in temperature, especially with her being sick. A small sneeze causes her whole body to tremble once more, and after that she quickly wraps a towel around her naked body. 

It’s only when she sees herself in the mirror that everything that's happened today sinks in.

It feels as though nothing has really properly processed until now, looking back at her reflection. Adora’s here. Just beyond that door, Adora, who broke up with her. Adora, who was once her everything. Adora, the one she had hurt the most, was here; talking to her, accepting her, _ smiling _ at her, _ forgiving her. _ Catra knows there will be more, that things won’t be (couldn't be) that simple. She knows there will be more heartache, more tension, more shit she'd rather keep locked away in her mind than sort through, but in that moment, as Catra stares at her reflection, hard and determined, she’s ready to brave it all for Adora.

_ And she’s willing to do the same for me. _

_ We’re willing to do it together. _

Catra is ready to brave it for the sake of them, and for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh boyyyy. NoW I have a lot to say. This chapter (since I’m assuming you just read it) is preeettyy heavy on the dialogue (which isn’t usually my style but I think it works here) and on the COMMUNICATION which was non existent in the first chapter. Writing this was great, especially the softer interactions, (this chap in general is a lot less angsty which I’m sure you’re all glad of) and the moments where Catra lets herself breathe a bit, since last chapter they were both holding their breath for the whole thing. I really wanted to make this quite cathartic in the sense where you really see them start to sort through and resolve things after everything that happened, and not just get back together like THAT, like cmon where’s the fun in that? And man, Adora had to hit us with another ‘babe’ huh? Okay I’ll stop now.
> 
> If I am possessed by demons, Chapter 3 could be our end of this week, but it’s looking like it’ll probably be more like next week this time, but I’ll try my best for you guys!
> 
> Also, who thought they were actually gonna kiss? I’d be interested to know haha


	3. Sick of pretending not to love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of her knows how ridiculous this is; the fact they are both having to tread on eggshells every time something new comes up; how they have to navigate conversations as though they are dodging icebergs; how they have to carefully craft each and every word like a blacksmith in fear of their work shattering to pieces, in fear of shattering one another. 
> 
> The other part of her says:
> 
> _It’s worth it._
> 
> —
> 
> Catra tries her best to hold onto something which she’s sure isn’t completely unsalvageable. The question is, is the sentiment shared?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final Chapter is upon us! To think this was supposed to be a short project too, and it ended up being my longest. Love to see it. I had such a great time writing this, this chapter in particular, which ended up being 11k words sooo...grab a snack, or drink, or meal and enjoy!

Finally leaving the bathroom feels like entering into some sort of alternate universe or time paradox. One where she’s wearing fresh, new clothes, (she’s chosen out a clean hoodie and tank top with her best grey sweatpants); with a fresh, new outlook on _ things; _one where Adora is sitting on her couch, idly on her phone, the sound of the TV filling the space in the room, bringing it to life. It's a strange sight. And if the ache in her chest is anything to go by, then it's almost comforting– but mostly a strange sight, one that feels fleeting, like it could vanish at any moment. 

_ She's not going to just leave. _

Catra is still standing by the bathroom door, having stared at Adora for nearly a minute now, so caught up in her and her thoughts to do with her, that she hardly notices, until she does, and clears her throat to interrupt herself and causes Adora to glance up from her phone. Looking up, she turns it off immediately, placing it by the side, giving Catra her undivided attention.

“Hey,” she says with a small wave, almost as if this is a regular occurrence. Catra has to keep reminding herself that _ it’s not _ and that it _ might not begin to be. _ After all, her therapist always told her to be _ ‘realistic but ambitious’. _

_ So, it could. _

Pulling herself out of her minefield of thoughts, she replies to Adora’s greeting with a small nod, and it feels awkward and stiff, but she supposes nothing is meant to be easy. And of course she thinks that, because the only time she’s not harshly scrutinising herself is when she’s doing the same to others. 

“How was your shower?” Adora asks. “Refreshing I hope?” She says it like she actually cares. 

_ That’s because she does. _

Strategically placing herself on the sofa angled in Adora’s direction, close enough that it’s comforting, but far enough they aren’t touching, Catra nods again, less stilted this time, along with a little hum as she says, “It really was, I definitely needed it more than I realised.” 

At that, Adora’s soft smile shifts into more of a grin. “Yeah, you really did stink,” she laughs, and Catra shuns herself for not seeing this coming, but laughs along anyway, murmuring a ‘shut up’ somewhere along the way. 

It seems Adora still hasn’t forgotten about Catra being sick, as once the laughter dies down, she studies her closely for a second. “Sorry, I completely forgot to ask if you’re feeling any better.” 

Shaking her head, Catra says, “Don’t apologise. It’s fine, I’m fine, and honestly, I kind of forgot too– I’d say we’ve both been pretty caught up in...everything.” She considers if _ everything _ is the right word, before realising that it’s really just a substitute for another word she doesn’t feel she’s able to use, doesn’t feel she’s allowed to use.

If Adora notices the heavy implications of the word, she doesn’t let it on, at all, and continues the conversation as normal, or as normal as it can be, considering _ everything. _ “Yeah, you’re right, but although you may feel fine now, doesn’t mean it’s completely gone.” 

Catra can’t (and doesn’t feel the need to) argue with that. “Mmh, I guess that’s true. More cold pills then?” 

With a nod, Adora gets up to retrieve them from her room, and Catra can’t help it as her eyes instinctively follow after her. It’s an old habit, arguably one of the unhealthier ones, born out of insecurity, fear and weakness– or at least that's what she’d started to think of it when each and every thing she had said and done to Adora was being micro analysed with her therapist within those first few months. Then one day he had told her to look at the positive aspects of their relationship, after so many sessions spent on what was wrong with it. At first, it had baffled her, agitated her. But, he explained, patient as always, and Catra accepted it. Eventually, she _ understood _ it. The small habits like these, they aren’t a culmination of just the bad, it’s a mix– of the adoration and admiration she feels for her. Now, Catra would say it’s mostly the latter, not so much of the bad, and maybe it’s also a little bit of longing too, but— 

_ Like she’d ever want you back. _

Biting the inside of her cheek she attempts to quell the intrusive thoughts that threaten swarm her mind, the thoughts which always seem to be lying dormant, even now, when she should be able to just ignore it. To shut them out. 

(“It’s not as easy as simply shutting down bothersome thoughts. It’s not like turning a light switch off and on– no it is far from seamless and never will be. That’s because this is just how your brain is wired, and one must learn how to train their brain, how to separate the rational and realistic, from the irrational and dangerous. That way, on the best days when these thoughts come, it will just feel like background noise more than anything else, something you are able to quiet down. 

“It won’t be easy, but if you start small, with the unfounded criticisms and pessimistic thoughts your brain tells you, it will mean that eventually you will stop climbing that ladder and getting to the most detrimental thoughts, the ones that result in poor decisions. In due time, you will learn not to listen to them.”)

_ I may not be able to shut them out, _

_ but I don’t have to listen to them. _

Barely anytime passing at all, Adora reappears, drink (which is orange juice of course) and medicine in hand, like hours before, placing them in Catra’s hand before sitting back down. Silently she swallows the two pills, letting out a small sigh before putting the drink on the table. Unsure of what to do (or what to _ say) _next, Catra just clears her throat, taking note of what noise is actually coming from the TV for the first time since she’s gotten back from her shower. It’s an old cartoon the two used to watch together all the time, even if it was just on in the background. She smiles fondly at the memories of countless nights curled up next to Adora on the couch, sometimes intently watching the show, laughing at all the jokes and gags offered, and other times being far too absorbed in each other to even know which episode was playing. 

“Asterix and Obelisk, hmn?” She manages, figuring small talk is better than no talk at all. 

It takes Adora a second to register what she’s asking (what was preoccupying her mind before, she wonders) but when it clicks she’s nodding, quite enthusiastically in fact as she says, “Yeah! I always go back to it, even with the tons of new cartoons out now – guess I’m a bit of a nostalgia junkie.” 

Catra snorts, because the idea of Adora being addicted to something as innocent as an old kids show, is _ such _ a juxtaposition to anything she’s ever been addicted to. The latter half of that thought brings up far too many unpleasant images for her liking, so she interrupts that train from setting off by adding on something a little more cheery to the conversation. “Yeah, it's still a great show, and I totally get that – I do it all the time with Pixar films.” Which is true, and oddly makes Catra happy she’s able to reveal such a useless truth to Adora, even if she probably already knew it. The satisfaction of doing so is most definitely because she hasn’t been able to talk to her like this in so long.

Adora smiles, “Yeah– I remember actually.”

“Oh? Really?” Catra says, sounding a little shocked, because she figures Adora would have tried to forget every little detail about her. Well– _ that _side of her mind thinks so, but the other disagrees, and it seems like Adora does too, face rendered in something which is a convoluted mix of confusion and hurt. Now she feels bad for putting it that way.

_ Already messing up. _

Her eyes close for half a second longer than they should.

Adora replies with this half-scoff half-sigh, “Yep,” which is a little too sharp and Catra knows she needs to veer this conversation swiftly back on course. 

_ I am not about to crash and sink now. _

“Wow, guess your memory isn’t as bad as I remember,” she quips, hoping it will get some rise out of Adora, and _ double _ hoping it’s a good one. 

“Clearly, it’s just you Catra,” Adora fires back, but it’s said with the hint of a smile on her face and once again Catra feels like she’s won a challenge, made it past a difficult level, so she doesn’t bother to hold back her grin as she leans forward _ (bold) _pointing an accusatory finger.

“I remember _ lots, _ excuse you.” Which is true. Catra is positive she can recall things from their childhood together which Adora has long forgotten.

Taking it as a challenge, Adora leans a little closer too, eyebrows quirked as she asks, “Like?” 

And— shit. Catra realises very quickly that she _ does not _think things through, that she just says and hopes for the best, when really she should be trying to avoid touchy subjects that one had to tread around so so carefully not to trigger the many awful memories she bared in her brain day after day. By now, she’s used to tiptoeing around the countless unwanted reminders of past events, but Adora on the other hand, had never exactly gotten the hang of it, even when they were together. There was no way after nearly a year of being apart she’d be able to do so. No one really could, even her therapist hasn’t perfected it (though he is damn near close). 

As much as it hurts to do, especially when she sees the flash of disappointment on her face, Catra pulls away, sinking back into the couch, like she’s trying to shrink into herself. Doing her best to salvage the conversation, despite the – emotional – damage she caused, she asks quickly, “Does Razz still make that blueberry pie?”

Seeing Adora’s face light up again eases the tight knot that had started forming in her chest, and it almost vanishes completely when she starts rambling on about her grandma’s delicious cooking, about a funny incident of her trying to replicate the recipe, until:

“I remember all the summers when you’d come over and we’d share a whole batch– you’d always have most of it though. I suppose it’s no better now with Bow and Glimmer— ”

_ Almost, but not quite. _

Suddenly the knot in her stomach has nothing to do with nerves and a lot more to do with something she’s sure is a thing of the past. Of course she knows Adora has gotten increasingly close to the two from Bright Moon, she’s seen the trio out more times than she can count. Alongside the _ occasional _ glances at her ex’s social media, and she knew everything she needed (or arguably doesn’t need) to know. It made sense that they quite quickly became closer than acquaintances after the incident pretty much forced Adora to stay away from her old friendship circle, meaning she either had to make new ones or suffer alone. But...it’s been less than a year. And they’ve been to the place Catra had spent weeks of her summer as a child at? And they've met Razz? Had her infamous pie? Imagining everything she’s missed is dizzying. 

_ She’s moved on. _

_ You haven’t. _

Catra hopes Adora hasn’t noticed the way her jaw is wired shut to stop herself from saying something incredibly stupid. Catra hopes Adora hasn’t noticed her lack of attentiveness, and how she's narrowly avoiding Adora’s eyes. Catra _ hopes _ she doesn’t, but, it’s Adora, so— 

“Catra? You alright?” She says with that worried expression she’s seen far too much of today. 

Zoning back into the conversation, she looks properly at Adora. “Huh? Yeah I’m–”

“It wasn’t something I said was it?” Adora asks, and it takes her aback, her being so direct. 

“Uhm, no,” Catra fumbles for an excuse, because the last thing she wants is for Adora to feel guilty over her fickle emotions. “Just...zoned out a little, you know how I get.” 

Frankly, anyone who’s even _ met _ Catra would’ve been able to tell that she’s lying, (usually she’s much better than this, but–) so Adora must see through her words instantly. Yet, for some reason, she doesn’t push. She just nods, and right then and there Catra knows what she should say, what she’s been meaning to say and what the right thing is to say, though instead–

“How’s everyone back home then?” She finds herself asking, though she can’t tell if it’s because she really wants to know or if her brain on autopilot just searched for the first generic ‘_ we haven’t spoken in so long!’ _thing to say.

“Uhm yeah, good! I haven’t really spoken to them much recently, but I’m going to see them on winter break, so…” Adora’s reply seems a little stilted, like she’s omitting something, and Catra knows she shouldn’t push since that would be completely hypocritical, but it’s as if she can’t help herself as she continues probing Adora. 

“You haven’t spoken to them much? College has been busy I’m guessing?” She asks, posing it as an innocent question, as if she doesn’t notice the slight strain in Adora’s voice as she answers. 

“I mean yeah, isn’t it for everyone?” Adora says, a hint too quickly, _ defensive _ even. 

_ Don’t push. _

Typically, Catra wouldn’t have dwelled on this so much, not after all the sessions she’s had on respecting boundaries and approaching issues with sensitivity; not when she is trying to make amends, as opposed to driving Adora further away. But Adora’s reaction to her question catches her off guard. There is no way she’s being cagey for Catra’s sake, or any other reason close to it. She’s always thought Adora would be thriving with her new friends, new internship, new experiences, away from a toxic, _ ‘crazy’ _ Catra. But she’s never considered that maybe things were just as hard (if not harder) for Adora; having someone who once played a big part in her life completely ripped away from her like that. Her therapist always tells her to try and look at things from others perspectives, but that can be near impossible at times, especially when she’s flooded with all types of volatile thoughts. With Adora, even as things got better and she stopped loathing her, all she could ever see was how happy she was, in person from afar, online (even if it’s all just the highlights), and that she's been getting on _ just fine. _Catra’s clearly forgotten a couple things. 

Because Adora’s reaction is complete proof that she’s still struggling with an issue had with since adults were given a reason to put pressure on her. Then, something said in their conversation less than an hour ago echoes in her head, adding another missing piece to the puzzle.

_ “But, with me, recently I’ve just, I don’t know, been kind of stuck. With...a lot of things.” _

Stuck with _what_ exactly, Catra doesn’t know. However, Catra does know one thing: Adora’s never been good with the whole school-work-social life balance, it's something she had very much lacked back then, and possibly still does. From her scarily unhealthy sleeping habits to her _work_ _until I drop!_ mentality, Catra made sure to intervene and drag her to social gatherings or out on a date every so often – hell, sometimes it was just simple things like reminding Adora to eat lunch or shower. For all of Catra’s not-so good qualities, one thing she had been able to do was keep Adora from driving herself insane with the workload of college. She wonders if she's gotten better at having a good balance. She wants to believe it’s not the case. Though, using her inference skills so far, it seems to have gotten worse.

But Adora will tell her that in her own time. 

With a sigh, Catra says, “Yeah, no you’re right. I was just—”

_ Don’t screw this up. _

“—wondering about the workload. I know I’ve had a shit ton to do, so…” Adora seems to relax a little as she trails off, in turn allowing Catra to feel slightly more at ease too. 

Part of her knows how ridiculous this is; the fact they are both having to tread on eggshells every time something new comes up; how they have to navigate conversations as though they are dodging icebergs; how they have to carefully craft each and every word like a blacksmith in fear of their work shattering to pieces, in fear of shattering one another. 

The other part of her says:

_ It’s worth it. _

“How about you?” Adora asks, leaning in as she does so, like she’s actually interested in what Catra’s doing, or because she’s glad to have turned the question on her. “How’s everything been? College wise.” She adds, as if it isn’t obvious.

“Well...” Catra takes a moment to think, unsure of what to say, as it feels there is a wrong way and a right way to approach this question. _ And everything in between, _ she has to remind herself, which means that there are limitless possibilities of what could go _ wrong, _ and equally the same for what could go _ right. _ Seeing as Adora hasn’t exactly been very open so far (which is fine, it is _ fine) _ Catra doesn’t see why she has to, at least yet. Not when everything for her has also been a rollercoaster of ups and major, tremendous downs (one in particular) all within the first year of her being here. In all honesty, first year is all a blur – one that felt as though she had been in therapy more than lectures. Now, in her second year, in a much healthier place, things are better, but that doesn’t mean things (being college) are necessarily good. _ ‘No clear direction and lacks focus,’ _ is how she’s been described, but really, how is that fair when she’s spent the best part of a year focusing on herself, on becoming the person she _ knows _ she can be. That’s when Catra realises just how little and how much she has to say, to let out, and the words start forming in her mind, what she wants to say, how she _ truly _ feels, but then she can feel her brain betraying her, and the words that crawl up her throat and leave her mouth are—

“Okay, I guess. A little busy, but, y’know, isn’t it for everyone?” She says with a shrug, feigning that nonchalance Adora’s tried to replicate before, but the difference is: Catra’s good at it. Too good. Instantly, she realises what she’s done, she can see it on Adora’s face, how she falls back again, how she folds her arms and forces her lips to stay just a tilt upturned, but it doesn’t really work, it’s not a smile, they both know that. The skin on the inside of her cheek suffers once more as she contains the urge to _ punch herself _in the face. 

This feels like an intricate dance Catra is incapable of getting right. One step seems near perfect, then the next are muddled, legs are tangled and it’s awkward and stressful and– 

and then she’s falling. Or they both are. Her, nor Adora are managing to get the steps right, and it feels as though they are another consequential word away from an irredeemable misstep, one that can’t be covered up with more words, one where an apology doesn’t even begin to cover the grave mistake. Then all of this would have been _ \- is - _ futile. And if all of this is pointless then—

(“It’s hard. It’s hard to power through when the bad emotions and thoughts and the temptation to give up overwhelm you. Sometimes, you have to stop, to preserve yourself, but a lot of the time, humans have a tendency to give up on things because it isn’t easy. Nothing good in life comes at the click of the button, the most rewarding things take perseverance, resilience and time. But if you care enough, if you want something enough, it’ll be easy to tell yourself to keep going if you’ve already gotten so far, and that will give you the strength to carry on. Your own belief in yourself.”)

_ You’ve gotten this far, don’t stop now. _

Boldly, Catra moves to sit closer to Adora, close enough that their knees brush against each other, close enough Catra could just reach out and _ touch, _ just like back in her room. Perplexed, all Adora does is narrow her eyes at her, clearly intrigued at whatever Catra is about to do. At first, Catra isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do either, as she only thought as far as moving closer to capture her attention. Fortunately, when another couple seconds pass, she has something.

“Ask me something. Anything. Anything about what we’ve talked about today, anything on your mind, that you've wanted to ask— just anything, okay?” 

It’s obvious Adora doesn’t expect such a brash move from Catra (or even anything close) as her face morphs from perplexed to virtually incredulous as she says, “Are...are you sure?” The intensity of her stare somehow heightens things even more, as if she is trying to look into her brain and understand what the _ fuck _ she’s doing. Catra doesn’t think she can answer that question either. 

Fighting the urge to look away, in fear of making it seem like a bluff or as if she’s not up for the challenge, Catra stares back, and replies with a sharp nod. While Catra can’t say Adora’s face lit up like it did at the mention of Razz, it’s certainly an improvement from the moments before. It’s showing Adora that she’s willing to be open, about the past and – hopefully – the future, even if she isn’t completely ready to do so herself. Earlier, Adora let Catra see completely through her, and it felt like she was paces ahead of her, that she’s too far behind— this is her opportunity to close the distance, to give Adora something back.

Catra waits for Adora to ask whatever question she has, the look on her face telling her she’s really contemplating what to say, which isn’t exactly what Catra wants, and part of her wants to tell her to just _ ‘come out with it already’ _, but this is Adora, the same girl who used to have trouble picking a filling at subway. So, in alternative to rushing her, she waits. Patiently, she waits. Anxiously, she waits, but she’s getting impatient, and her palms are sweaty, in fact the whole rooms hotter, and she’s just about to interrupt Adora’s deep train of thought when—

“You know the nightmare you had? Well, I kinda just presumed what it was about and...” Adora pauses.

“And what? You can ask me, Adora,” Catra says, assuring her.

“Okay,” She breathes out, as if relieved despite Catra giving her permission to ask anything before. “What happened? In the dream.” She finally asks. 

_ No easing into it then. _

_ You have no one to blame but yourself for that. _

Recalling the dream she had earlier, (not that it’s easy to forget) Catra takes herself back: to the music she had been playing when she had fell asleep; to the hopeful feeling in her chest that Adora would still be here when she woke up; to finally drifting off, being foolish enough to think her brain wouldn’t betray her in this instance. She remembers the apprehension – the fear – in Adora’s voice, the argument, the hysteria, the party, even more hysterics, this time not just Catra, a cell, then too many questions and white walls, more questions, feeling impossibly alone, and _ more white walls. _

Most of all, she recalls the disdain, the hatred she had for Adora in those moments. Jaw clenched and body tensing up, she just barely suppresses a shudder.

Adora already looks as though she regrets asking. “You don’t have to—”

“It was about everything, like you thought. Just kind of weird and dream-like,” Catra starts. “It started when you told me about the internship. That whole fight. Then it flashed to the party, only a little bit of it before I...before it went the way it did. The rest of it was really blurry, just snippets of everything, of getting into the car and— Being at _ that _ place again though, even in dream form was...it was like the walls were closing in on me, and that all my emotions were this big black ball of angst, reaching a crescendo. Then, I woke up.”

The whole time, Adora’s gaze is fixed on Catra, soaking up every word she’s saying, which Catra, so caught up in the clear as day blur of memories, doesn’t notice until she fully zones back into the conversation and turns to see her mouth slightly agape. 

“You’ve never had a dream like that before?” Adora says as soon as Catra locks eyes with her. 

“Huh?” She says automatically, completely missing how Adora’s gathered that from what she’s just said. 

“You said, ‘being at that place _ again’. _So...you haven’t had a dream like this before?” Repeating the question, with a little more clarity this time, Adora waits for an answer.

Although slightly taken aback (mostly by Adora’s impressive inference skills) Catra intends to give Adora an answer, but for a moment, the words get stuck in her throat, which always used to happen, and would always end the opposite to how Catra wanted it to. As with everything, it’s something she’s been working on, effectively emoting and articulating her words. She can, and she does, but of course it’s Adora who messing with—

_ No, this is just a difficult topic. _

_ You’re doing better than you think. _

Gulping down some of the excess saliva in her mouth, (throat still dry and a little scratchy) Catra tries again, this time with much more success. “Well...no, not like that,” is all she’s able to get out, and hopes that if Adora notices her struggling (which is something she never wants) that she’ll still continue with the questions, because she wants to answer them, all she needs is a push in the right direction.

Thankfully, Adora does probe on, but it’s still soft, delicate. “What made this one different then?” Her hand on the sofa slides over, a little closer to Catra’s, like a lingering invitation, not begging to be accepted, but there if one wants it. Catra lets it sit for now. 

“I guess it was how it felt so lifelike, in comparison to the others, how each event was pretty much in chronological order, how it played out the same to what happened back then. Usually they’re more...abstract. Guess my brain was feeling a little lazy today.” She jokes, not wanting things to get too bleak, even if it's inevitable.

“How bad are they? Usually?”

Catra freezes, not wanting to think back to all the times she’d woken up soaked in sweat, crying, even screaming on the worst nights. Adora notices (it feels like Adora always notices) and doesn’t wait for Catra, she just takes hold of her hand, calming her.

“Sometimes...I wake up and can’t breath.” She feels a squeeze and continues. “It would feel like I was drowning and no one could do anything to help. It was the worst at first. They happened more often, and at one point I was having panic attacks almost every night.” Catra feels herself relaxing with each word she lets out, she feels herself relaxing with her hand in Adora’s and suddenly it’s easy to talk about it, to let go more than usual.

“After awhile the bad ones started happening less and less, maybe once every couple weeks, but when they did come, it would be terrible.”

“What made them worse?” Adora says, looking down at their hands, hers atop Catra's. They shift slightly, as if they’re itching for something more, and when Catra takes a pause to think of how to answer that, that’s when Adora moves her hand, and fingers intertwine with Catra’s. For not the first time today, Adora catches her off guard, and her heart can’t help but stutter like it did when she was 14 and this happened on their school trip. But so much has changed since then, now everything is messed up and confusing, and surely Adora is just comforting her, and Catra doesn’t know what to think, _ what this means. _ So she takes another dry gulp and continues.

“I’d move around in my sleep, remember? I used to scratch you back then on accident. But after everything that happened, it was bound to get worse. The one time Scorpia slept with me to calm me down after a nightmare, I had another right after and apparently it was _ not _ good. She pretty much shook me awake, and she looked so panicked after, it was kinda funny,” she snorts at the memory, half fondly and half wishing it had never happened. Adora raises a brow, waiting for her to divulge what exactly had made Scorpia react so severely. It isn’t as hard, telling someone (telling Adora) all of this, but it still isn’t easy. “I was...I was saying some shit, apparently it didn’t make much sense, but it’s not like it was a first. But then, I...my hands were— I had my hands around my neck,” she says, head dipping down. 

_ Embarrassing. _

_ Why would you ever admit that? _

“Oh, Catra,” Adora says, thumb making soothing circles around her knuckle. “Was it...was it scary?”

She shrugs, “not really, since I’m not exactly conscious when it happened,” which is honestly what she thinks, _ although _ – “I guess it’s scary for those around me, which I feel bad for. And, knowing I could be harming myself and not know about it is...that’s a little scary. Though, it’s not much scarier than my other dreams, so it’s fine in that way.”

“I’m sorry,” Adora says, despite none of it being her fault.

“It’s fine, I have to deal with a lot worse anyway.” Catra says, feeling the closest she’s felt to serene in a while, despite the topic at hand.

Adora hums thoughtfully. “So...what do you do?”

“To cope?” She asks for clarification and Adora nods. “Well, after a nightmare it helps to read, take my mind some place else for while. Sometimes, when it’s really bad and I can’t sit still, I run. I try not to go at night though, so if I don’t wanna be alone calling Scorpia or Entrapta is usually my best bet. _Especially_ Entrapta, that girl never stops talking.” Catra chuckles warmly at the thought. “Same goes for when I’m anxious, or low, or anything really, oh– and good music of course,” she says with a smile, and one dances onto Adora’s face too. 

Hers falls quickly however. “It’s hard though, at times, it’s bound to, especially when—” she freezes. 

_ Would that be too far? _

“When what?” Adora’s voice is nearly a whisper, and Catra can feel the trepidation, the unease as if she knows what’s coming, because she does, it’s made all to clear as her hand grips a little harder and thumb stops circling her knuckles.

“When before… Using alcohol and drugs was an automatic response when something went wrong, or I was down. It felt like the only way to cope when everything got too much...”

“Even though it _ never _ worked out for anyone?” Although she says it fairly low, the inflection in her voice on particular words shocks Catra all the same, that she could have said it at the top of her lungs and her reaction would be no different. This is harshest she’s been today, about anything, out of everything.

Untangling their fingers (suddenly her hands are a lot colder) Catra goes to look up at Adora, with a glower fixed on her face, partially unable and partially not bothering to use her words to form the sentence her expression expertly can.

Instantly, Adora’s face falls as well, before her eyes widen too and she says, “Sorry, that was...that was out of line, it’s just— it was, y’know...hard. To deal with all that.”

Catra laughs– she doesn't mean to, she especially doesn’t mean for it to come out sharp and cold, as prickly as an icicle. "It was hard for me too, as you very well know.”

Adora winces, “I—” she pauses, and in a matter of seconds her face hardens and she says, “Just stop– you _ know _ what I mean.”

Suddenly it feels all too close to the last time they talked like this – when Catra had gotten drunk and Adora had found her – and Catra hopes it doesn't end the way that did, but her mouth seems to be moving on its own merit right now. 

“No, I don’t actually.” Because she really doesn't, but her therapist has taught her that this isn't an effective way of communicating but right now that advice has been thrown out the window. Completely. She crosses her arms, like a child does as an act of defiance after being told off. 

Adora looks entirely unimpressed, which she makes even more evident when she says, “For Christ’s sake Catra, can’t you just be a little more _ mature?” _

Of all the things Adora could say, of all the things that could have set her off, this makes Catra's blood run cold, this transports her mind back to _ that _ night, as words from the past that sound all too similar to the present echo in her mind, over and over:

_ “Jesus Catra, stop it!” _

_ “You’re too much to handle Catra, too volatile...” _

Her brain is going into overload, is self destructing, because she _ can’t, not again, _ she can’t go through this, hear all this, _ not again. _From here it’s almost easy, once she tells herself she can’t, she doesn’t, and all she can hear is her own thoughts, blocking it all out, telling her:

_ No, no, no, no. _

With her mind as foggy as the streets on an early winter morning, it’s hard to to tell what Adora’s saying, or not saying, or if she’s looking at her or if she’s not, and usually that’s intimidating, but now, right now it doesn’t bother her, nothing does as long as she can continue to suppress those words, as long as she can get away from that voice, and the anger, and the disappointment. It’s working. It’s fine. Everything is fine while everything is still foggy. However, there’s a voice cutting through the mist, and it’s saying...it’s– what is it saying? 

It’s louder. And it sounds like, like _ that _ voice, her voice. 

_ Adora’s. _

Not like before though, not a second away from exploding with the bad. In fact, it’s soft, pleading, and it’s saying, “Catra...Catra, please.”

_ Please? _

The fog starts to clear, and her senses start rushing back to her. It’s like waking up from a daydream, realising things are the same, but slightly different from how you left it. They’re still on the sofa, no surprise there, and Catra registers the fact Adora’s hand is practically clutching her arm. She blinks, once, twice at the hand there, then looks up at Adora, who still seems to be refusing to let go. Then Catra’s remembers what Adora said just seconds (maybe minutes?) before and she goes to move away from her, snatching her arm away. Her mismatched eyes bore into Adora’s blue ones, widening a bit as she says, “You—” Catra cuts herself off, realising she has no clue what to say. 

Adora’s expression is hard to read, because at first it seems like she’s confused, but then it morphs into annoyance, into worry, and keeps going round like it’s some sick cycle. It’s _ agitating, _in a way Catra can’t put into words, but it’s also Adora’s raw emotions showing, and Catra knows how difficult it is to control those. That’s when Catra thinks she’s got something, something to keep the bridge from collapsing, something that—

The phone. Again. This time the ringing is coming from Adora’s direction, so it must be hers. Slowly, making a sound that sounds a little like a sigh, Adora goes to pick up her phone, checking the caller ID. Catra likes to think that if it's someone unimportant (even better, it they are) that she’ll just decline the call, and they can resume their tense staring contest, because she’d rather that than nothing, but this is Adora. _ Altruistic Adora. _ Who always answers her phone, regardless. From where Catra’s sitting and how the phone is angled, she can see the last couple characters of the name, which are all emojis. She decides it must be Glimmer or Bow then. 

Reluctantly, Adora gets up off the sofa and goes to the kitchen, answering the call. There’s a pause, when the line is messing up or connecting or something, where Adora looks back at Catra, face oddly melancholy. Catra doesn’t let herself stare too long, only taking a quick glance then turning away. The line connects, because she turns her back once more, leaving Catra to stew in her thoughts and worries. 

_ This is it. This is it. This is it. _

“Hello?” She hears Adora say from the kitchen. She sounds a little exasperated. Tired. Like she’s ready to go home and forget about today. About all of this. 

Catra doesn’t want to listen, and she’s sure Adora doesn’t want her to eavesdrop, so she turns on the tv (it had turned off at some point?) and cranks up the volume until it nearly drowns out her voice. From the snippets of the conversation she doesn’t gather much. 

_ Not that it matters. _

_ It’s clear what it’ll lead to. _

She tries not to think about how much that thought hurts, just when they were getting somewhere– it’s inevitable that someone would fuck it up. 

_ That _ _ you _ _ would. _

Squeezing her eyes shut, she clenches her jaw, which only serves to bring to her attention that she can feel a headache coming on, evident by how her temple throbs every couple seconds. She doesn’t even notice when Adora renters the rooms, not until she calls her name. 

“You’re leaving,” she says, wanting to get to the point, wanting it all to end, to go to bed and pretend this whole day is a fever dream. 

Though, this want feels more like dread. 

The solemn expression Catra expects to appear on her face never comes, and instead, it closer resembles panic, as Adora sits back down again and says, “No I— we need to talk.”

Still unconvinced, Catra scoffs, “We’ve talked. We are talking. Why are you still here Adora?” 

“Don't do this Catra.” 

“Do what?” Catra says, not budging an inch.

“What you were doing before.” Adora shifts to be a slither closer to her. “Just...help me out here. _ Please.” _

Relief floods through Catra as she hears Adora’s plea, as she knows then it isn’t Adora's intention to leave. That Adora seems as willing to work on this, on them, as well. Yet, she still finds herself hiding behind the walls which Adora once saw through as clear as day.

Her voice cracks. “I’m trying. I—”

“I know babe. It’s hard for the both of us. But I know how difficult all this is for you especially, and what I said...it was what I felt back then, and even though it’s been so long...I forget how different things are now. I guess there are some things I never fully got over, but it wasn’t right, and I’m sorry.” Adora places her hand atop Catra's again, and she’s glad. She can tell that Adora wants to rant on from the way she can’t quite sit still, but she cuts herself short for Catra’s sake, as if not to overwhelm her. 

_ She’s trying. _

_ She’s really trying. _

Nevertheless, Catra’s mind finds some crack to exploit. “Do you really know though?”

Adora starts to nod, however then, she peers down at the floor, and says, “Well, no, not completely but I...I, uh, researched it a little bit. To understand.” 

_ To understand? _

Catra wants to ask why, pretending she has no clue, just to coax the words she so desperately wants to hear out of Adora. But that would be disingenuous, as the reason is as clear as the sky on a sunny day. Adora must know that the subtext in her words are clear.

Instead of opening another can of worms, she says, “Then I’m sure you know that my everyday life is much more tiring than my nightmares will ever be. It’s better now, most days, thanks to the therapy and medicine, but before...imagine if every little thing you felt was amplified by ten, if every time you felt pain it led you to act super rash and impulsive, only to feel like complete shit about it after, and then to do it again and again…it was an endless cycle of utter misery.”

Once more, a hand squeezes hers, and Adora’s murmuring something under her breath, something close too, “I can’t imagine...how terrible…” and Catra realises she doesn’t want Adora’s sympathy, no matter how good it feels compared to the months where she was sure she meant nothing to her. 

“It’s...just how things are Adora. And it’s not unmanageable now.” She says, punctuating it with a slight shrug.

“When was the last time? That it was really bad?” Adora asks, curious, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, almost in anticipation of the answer. 

Catra hardly needs to think of what to say. “Well, the last time I had a breakdown, if we’re not counting today–” she jokes, though Adora barely cracks a smile, let alone a laugh, “–was probably–” _ definitely _, “–the party. You know, when you found me outside?” 

“Of course I remember,” Adora says, though she doesn’t sound offended by Catra saying that, or agitated, in fact—

“I, uh...I spiralled real quick after you left, but thanks to my newly gained knowledge from therapy, I had enough sense to call Scorpia to pick me up.”

Next to her, Catra feels Adora _ flinch, _and she goes to say something, to comfort her, but Adora gets there before her. Hand still holding Catra’s, she says, quietly, “I’m sorry, for leaving you that night by the way. It wasn’t right.” 

_ She’s apologising? _

Catra smiles. 

_ Of course she is. _

_ It’s Adora. _

“I think we need to ban apologies,” she replies, the grin on her face overt. Adora stares for a moment as if she’s insane (which is–) before breaking into a smile of her own. Catra can feel the layers of tension, of harboured hurt feelings peeling away slowly, allowing them both to keep moving in the same direction. 

Dramatically, Adora snatches her hand back, crossing her arms and pouting like a toddler who's holding out for sweets, as she says, “At least say you forgive me?” It’s in this sickly sweet singsong voice that floods back countless memories of _ before, _and she knows that before she had trouble saying no to it. Now....it ’s no different. 

In a theatrical groan of her own, Catra asks, “Do I have to? Like, is it necessary?” Arms still crossed, Adora leans towards Catra, still pouting slightly (she _ must _ remember the effect that used to have on her) as she nods, slowly. Denying her now – not that Catra can even if she tries – is near impossible, so, with a sigh, lips threatening to tug upwards, Catra turns to Adora fully, trying to keep her face in a neutral expression. “Will you stop apologising after this?” 

A nod.

“Fine...Adora, I sincerely forgive you for all those months ago. There. You’re forgiven. Happy?”

Clapping her hands together, Adora lets out a “yay!” and Catra can’t help but chuckle. “What?” She says, like it isn’t obvious why Catra’s laughing. 

“Nothing, you’re just– cute.” Catra says, and doesn’t miss the way Adora’s cheeks colour because of it, which is what makes her realise what she’s done.

_ Oh. _

It’s not like it was intentional, like Catra’s trying to—

_ Now she’s going to think that— _

_ No, it was an accident. _

To her surprise, Adora laughs in response, and all the muscles Catra hadn’t known were tensed relax, and she smiles again, glad she hasn’t cracked the ice on something she isn’t ready to sink into yet. 

They settle into a comfortable silence, assuredly the most comfortable of all the splashes of serenity they’ve had today, as they watch _ Asterix and Obelisk _ up to their usual shenanigans. Catra hums, thinking that she could easily stay like this forever, TV on, in Adora’s warm presence, only focusing on what’s in front of her and, _ who’s _ next to her.

A perfect moment never lasts forever however, and soon enough (frankly too soon) Adora is shifting around, then grabbing her phone.

“Wow, it’s already six, I’ve pretty much been here all day.” Adora says, stretching her arms above her head. Even though Catra knows Adora doesn’t have any intention of leaving her the way she did before, her brain is simply so used to switching into _ crisis _ mode when it comes to her. The tranquility which was just there vanishes, replaced by the ever familiar anxiety which ticks like a time bomb. She hopes Adora can detonate it somehow.

“Catra? What’re you thinking?” Adora asks when she notices the pensive look of her face, yet it still feels like magic that she manages to ask the question at the right moment. But, no matter how perfect the moment, there always seems to be something blocking Catra from taking advantage of such, and usually it’s herself.

(“While everyone has secrets, things that they’d rather not share, it’s important to remember not _ everything _ needs to be a secret, especially not your emotions and desires. In order to effectively communicate your feelings to those around you, sometimes you’re going to have to be transparent at times you won't necessarily be completely comfortable doing so. You may have to express your fears, your worries. And that’s fine. You’re not weak for doing so. You’re brave. So be honest.”)

_ Be honest...start with your worries. _

She takes a breath. “Well...what happens now? Do we do that thing where we pretend this never happened and go on with our lives?” Because frankly, despite the resolve Adora is not just going to _ get up and go, _ Catra can’t shake the feeling that this truly is a paradox of sorts. That they only exist within this little bubble, and that neither is willing (or courageous enough) to pop it. 

Adora’s slight panicked expression settles into an almost remorseful one, eyes downcast as she says, “Oh...I mean if that’s—”

“Of course that’s not what I want. Is that what _ you _ want?” Catra cuts her short, seeing no reason to prolong an already excruciating moment. All she wants is the truth, to see if Adora’s actions match up with her words.

“No...I want–” Adora struggles to attach words to her feelings, something Catra is fairly familiar with, and spots easily as Adora stutters her way to words with meaning. She gets there in the end, unlike Catra the majority of the time, and closes the minuscule gap between them, knees now touching, as she reaches out for her hand and says, “I want...I want to be in your life again. No matter what.”

It would be a lie to say Catra’s heart doesn’t swell at the gesture; it would also be a lie to say Catra’s cheeks don’t grow hotter, that her mind doesn’t start to conjure up all the possibilities of the future, of _ their _ future, back in each other’s life. She’s almost too flustered to say anything, but she knows she can’t leave Adora in the dark, she knows she has to give an equal amount back, to balance the scales.

_ Communicate your emotions. _

“And I want to be in yours. But is one day gonna let us put everything behind us?” She tries not to think about the warmth Adora’s hand over hers brings, how this is the fourth time they've held hands today, instead she focuses on her words, on getting those out, and on listening to Adora.

“No, of course not. It’s a start though. If you’re willing to do it, I am.” Adora replies easily, as if she’s gone over the answer in her head more than once. As if she’s certain of what she wants, of her desires. _ Because, _ Catra realises, _ she is. _

_ Express _ _ your _ _ desires. _

Catra can feel a smile creeping onto her face again as she says, “Okay, how about we start with having an actual normal conversation that lasts more than a minute?”

“Fine, fire away.” Adora smiles.

“Nu-uh,” she starts, and Adora seems utterly baffled, until she says, “I’m ordering food first, and then we talk.” And maybe, it’s a poor attempt at getting Adora to stay longer. And maybe, it’s also fairly obvious that this is Catra trying to display her gratitude for today, and because she still wants to selfishly hold onto Adora for a little more. _ But, _ Catra’s figured something out: Adora won’t say no. 

_ “Really _ Catra?” She says, feigning exasperation, though she’s not rejecting the offer, or anything close to that.

“Well, I did tell you I’d pay you back, didn’t I?” Catra winks in reply, feeling pleased with herself for more reasons than one.

— 

They continue to watch TV in that same serene silence as they wait for the food to be delivered.

Catra seems to forget that Adora hasn’t eaten in hours until the Chinese comes and she’s the one who jumps up to get it (possibly because she’s still ill and Adora’s always been chivalrous) grabbing cutlery, and a plate for herself – typical Adora – from the kitchen, before plopping back down on the couch, ready to dig in, going for the box of chicken wings immediately.

It makes Catra laugh, seeing her act so ravenous as she takes that first bite and moans like Catra had when tasting her soup. Adora looks up at her then, focus shifting away from her chicken wing to Catra, giving her a perturbed glare. 

“Slow down princess, don’t want you choking or anything,” she says, and it comes out so naturally she barely realises what she’s done, but then she thinks about all the times Adora’s so easily slipped out _ ‘babe’ _ like she never stopped and she decides this is worthwhile payback. 

Ironically, Adora coughs then, and Catra lets out a chuckle, knowing it definitely isn’t the pace she’s eating at that caused it. Adora just grumbles, takes a sip of the Fanta they ordered (from the bottle, since they forgot the cups) and continues to eat. Digging in too, Catra goes for the box of egg fried rice, and she’s glad when it actually tastes of something, as opposed to this morning where eating food felt more like torture than something meant to be satisfying. 

“Mmmh!” She says with a mouthful of food. Adora nods along happily, and for once, she lets herself enjoy this moment, and her brain’s intrusion is quieter than usual. 

The two mostly eat in an easy silence, eyes fixed on the TV, though every once in a while the inevitabily wander over to each other. Adora, who was evidently famished, has almost all the chicken, a whole box of rice, and some prawn crackers. Catra, who’s actually been sufficiently fed today has much less, which she’s completely unbothered about. 

_ Adora deserves it anyway. _

When the majority of the food is finished, Adora turns to her, lips upturned as Catra swears they have for the entirety of the meal. Despite this, Catra feels as though little flames dance upon her cheeks as Adora looks at her, eyes bright in a way that makes her reminisce, of before; instead of the usual stab in her chest that comes with even the most gleeful of memories of her and Adora’s time together, her chest fills with happiness, hope, adoration, dare she say—

“Hey, Catra?” Adora says, interrupting Catra’s train of thought, which she usually despises yet this time can’t quite bring herself to. 

“Adora?” She matches her tone, though she supposes it’s missing the slight trepidation of Adora’s, which only arouses her curiosity (and partially worries her) more.

Adora takes a breath, then, “I...thanks.” It’s hardly a sentence, and it confuses Catra because, what does Adora have to say thank you for? 

_ I’ve done nothing. _

However, Adora seems to disagree, as when Catra gives her a blank look, she starts to elaborate. 

“Not just for the food– although that was very much appreciated to, but I mean for today in general, y’know, for hearing me out even though—”

“Stop, just _ stop.” _There’s a lump in Catra’s throat now, a lump that can only be described as the mass of guilt and shame she feels, for not being able to– even though she had meant to all day, she hasn't been able to work up the guts to do such a simple gesture. A simple gesture which represents so, so much. 

_ Pitiful. _

“Catra?” Adora shifts closer, like she has done each time Catra feels like she’s slipping away, or too far gone.

(“No matter how hard something may seem, how impossible a task, how difficult figuring out a solution, or how taxing getting the right words out may be, you can do it. Never underestimate yourself, or let yourself get caught up in how one side of your mind sees things. Believe in yourself, and your ability.”)

_ I can do this. _

Maybe it’s Adora, or maybe it’s the help of her therapists advice that echoing in her head, the words of wisdom that anchor her back. Maybe both. Whichever it is, it’s what keeps Catra going, despite the persistent lump in her throat, despite the stinging in her eyes which she fights back fiercely, as she says, each word slow, “I...you have nothing to thank me for Adora. At first, I was barely tolerating you, yet somehow that didn’t deter you, or make you hate me – which it should’ve – but instead you’ve been kind, and patient, and you’ve… you’ve _ looked after me. _ And yet it’s taken me so, so much to realise you still care. I’m stupid. I really am. But you, well you’re—” Catra finds herself getting choked up, (surprisingly not a single tear has fallen yet) but Adora’s encouraging eyes will her to continue.

“I don’t think I can emphasise this enough, but..._ thank you. _Thank you so much Adora. I should have said it sooner but, because you at least deserve that. But, better late than never, huh?” At some point, she must have looked down when Adora’s gaze had become too much to bare whilst speaking, because when she looks up, Adora’s eyes have tears threatening to fall over her face as well, and she can’t help but let out a stifled laugh— possibly closer to a sob. 

Not a second after, Adora is emulating the sound, and they’re both wiping tears with the back of their hands, both trying not to appear weak in front of the other, both still ending up in each other’s arms, clutching onto each other tight as they ride out the last of their hysteria filled sobs. As they let go of each other again, there is an air of stiffness, though it seems to wash over immediately once Adora opens her mouth to speak.

“Feeling better now?” She asks with a grin.

“I could say the same to you princess,” Catra replies with a grin of her own. Adora mumbles a ‘fuck off’ and Catra laughs, and she almost forgets that just a minute ago they were— “I do feel better though. So... thanks.” 

Smiling again, Adora replies, this time with less sarcasm leaking out and more fondness in her voice with, “I could say the same.”

From there, they fall back into a comfortable conversation, full of laughter and anecdotes, some stories being almost entirely unbelievable to the other (“A girl in your class got caught with the professor right before a lecture? No way!”) and others being completely unsurprising (“You decked a guy in the face for touching your ass? Nice!”)

Both equally bring the two closer again, even if it’s only a temporary closeness, one that will need to be built up fully. This is the start however, the foundation they need to work from the ground up.

_ To work on us. _

—

It’s around eleven when they realise just _ how long _they’ve been talking for. 

“I can’t believe it’s so late,” Adora yawns, stretching her arms over her head.

Catra nods, not really believing it either. “Time flies when you’re having fun I guess?”

Adora snorts at the remark, but doesn’t say anything in reply. The silence makes it clear what she’s meant to say, what she should say now, what she should have said hours ago to avoid this, _ this _ exact moment, where neither is sure what to do or say, or— 

“Hey Adora?” Catra starts, and her mind is split in half, each side battling for agency over what comes out next. 

“Yes?” She says, polite, unsuspecting as ever, or maybe she knows, she knows exactly what’s coming. Neither have ever been good with goodbyes, so there’s a high chance this gesture’s heavy implications will not go unnoticed, that it will in fact reek of desperation. Even so–

“It’s, um, pretty late, and I’m sure getting back to Bright Moon at this time isn’t a journey you wanna make...since it’s y’know, a little far, so, um, do you wanna – it’s completely fine if you don’t – but would you like to...stay over?” Catra asks, in the most ineloquent way possible. Her cheeks burn, and she has the strong urge to hang her head in shame, especially since Adora seems to be taking a millennium to process this, making it evermore harder. 

It could easily be playing Catra’s eyes playing tricks on her as she waits for Adora’s answer, but her cheeks seem to colour too, and her reply also seems to be in the realm of a timid teen as she says, “Oh, really? Because, uh, that would be, uh...yeah! I’d really like– appreciate that, so…” 

_ It would be much easier to make fun of her if she wasn’t so cute. _

To save both of them from any further embarrassment, Catra nods in reply, accompanied with a small smile as she gestures for Adora to follow her. She leads her into the guest room, (previously Scorpia’s room and before–) which is a little smaller than her room, but not by much at all. It’s mostly barren, lacking the character her room has, which is crammed with posters, with one wall coloured blue. In fact it doesn't have much of anything at all in it, but it will suffice. 

Adora goes to sit on the bed, while Catra is still at the doorway, unsure of whether to sit or stand or go – she ends up staying where she is. Running her hands over the cover, Adora scrunches up her face, like she sometimes does when she’s thinking hard about something. All Catra does is watch in confusion, then Adora gasps, “oh!” as if a lightbulb has just gone off in her head. 

Still perplexed, Catra raises a brow, and Adora seems to understand the wordless question, since she says, “The mattress. It’s different from the one from before, right? No more springs poking at your back.” 

Relief and fondness and too many other things to name wash over Catra, and she’s about to make a comment about Adora’s observation skills when—

“Clothes! That’s what I forgot!” Catra says, rushing to her room and picking Adora out a pair of shorts (even in winter she prefers them to full length bottoms) and a large sweatshirt, which is probably closer to Adora’s size than it is large.

“Here,” she hands her the clothes, and she mumbles a small thanks. “I’ve got spare toothbrushes in the bathroom inside the cabinet too, so...I’ll leave you to get changed then.” Purposefully, she avoids saying goodnight (as it will count as a definitive close to their conversation) in hopes it will amount to something, but she can’t be so sure when all Adora does is nod and give her that thankful smile which is hard to read into. 

_ She’ll get the message if she wants to. _

Instead of dwelling on that thought, or any similar, she goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth, then retires to her bedroom.

It’s impossible to even think of going to sleep as she hears the creaking of one door opening, the pads of Adora’s feet against the floor, and then the click as the bathroom door shuts. It’s impossible when she still feels like her brain must be playing a cruel trick on her, and is even more difficult with the paroxysm of ambivalence overwhelming her as she listens to the sputtering of the tap. 

It’s all _ too much _ and all _ not enough _at the same time, so when Catra hears a knock on her door, she can’t be anymore grateful. 

“Hey...I just wanted to say goodnight, and thanks again – for letting me stay,” Adora says, head poking through the door, as if she’s hesitant to come in. 

“Yeah, no problem.” Catra says, then bites down on her tongue, to refrain from overstepping. When she allows herself to speak again, she simply says, “Goodnight then. Sleep well.”

Adora’s face falls, which doesn’t make much sense, but it’s late, Catra is still a little ill, and therefore it must be nothing. “You too,” she replies, and goes to close the door. The silence in between is long and excruciating, the creaking only adding to the torturous atmosphere. All Catra is thinking is: _ make it stop, make it stop, _ and almost wishes she hadn’t offered Adora to stay, when—

The creaking stops, but there’s no click either. 

_ Huh? _

“Actually...do you, um, mind if I stay here for a while? To talk? I’m just not that tired and—”

“Sure.” Catra cuts in, eager to be able to have something to occupy her mind with, gesturing for Adora to come sit on the bed too.

It’s clear Adora is biting back a smile, though Catra doesn’t mention it because she _ may _ be as well. They sit opposite each other, just like all those hours before, which frankly feels a century away. 

“Ya know, you kinda read my mind,” Catra admits. 

Adora chuckles in response. “I think we’re both just too predictable, but, sure let’s go with that.”

And just like that they fall back into a comfortable rhythm. 

After another half hour of talking, they’re no longer sitting up, instead laying down face to face, feet and knees brushing under the blanket as they giggle like children staying up past their bedtime. Then, out of nowhere (though maybe Catra should have expected it) Adora’s smile fades and the glee that’s in her voice is replaced with the same apprehension as before.

“Catra...can I be honest with you about something?” 

Instantly, Catra’s face falls too and her voice is low as she says, “of course you can.”

There’s a pregnant pause, as if Adora is working up the nerve to say whatever it is she’s been holding in, and from the look on her face, Catra thinks she has an idea about what it could be, but she waits for Adora to start first. 

“So, um, earlier on when I wouldn’t tell you about college and everything was because, well, I’ve kind of been...struggling, I guess. This year, while it has been great in a lot of ways, has also been really hard, and obviously that started with you, but now, even though I’m in a much better place mentally— or maybe _ because _ I’m in a better place, it’s made me realise a lot of things too. Before, I used to work on assignments, essays and do everything else unless someone – which was usually you – forced me to stop and take a break, but now...it’s like the opposite, not all the time, but sometimes people will literally need to force me to sit at my desk and start on my work.

“For a while, I was really confused on why, but then, I realised that it’s because my heart’s not in it. But, there isn’t much I can do now and so I’ve been feeling _ so stuck, _ and had no clue, what to do about it, who to go to about it, and how to tell my parents that I’m basically reevaluating _ everything _ I once aspired for. They expect so much from me, and I just—I wanted to tell you but I didn’t really know how, or if I even should, and I’m sure hardly making sense but—”

“Hey, hey, Adora, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Catra’s hand finds Adora’s under the blanket as she says, “I knew there was something going on, but I didn’t wanna press, so I appreciate you telling me. I really hope you figure it out, I do, but...try not to stress about it now – I know it’s hard not to, but I promise it doesn’t help.” 

Adora tries to protest, but Catra just squeezes her hand and says, “For now, I’m here to keep your brain wandering back there. Okay?”

_ I’m here. _

“Okay.” Adora nods, and for a little while longer neither lets go.

At some point, Adora turns off Catra’s lamp and it’s pitch black, though she doesn’t go to leave, instead they continue talking. At some point, Catra begins to grow tired and their conversation grows mostly nonsensical, though Adora doesn’t go to leave, instead they continue babbling. At some point, Catra is pretty much asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness as Adora rambles on. Though, when she realises this, she lets out a small _ ‘oh’. _

“Goodnight Catra,” she whispers. The last thing Catra remembers – though she’s uncertain whether it’s fiction or fact – is Adora leaning over, fingers brushing a strand hair that fell on her face out of the way, and leaving a chaste kiss on her forehead.

Whether Adora stays with her or goes to the guest room, Catra doesn’t know.

—

When Catra wakes up, she’s greeted by the warmth of absolutely nothing but the pillows around her. Something feels off, so groggily and confused, she sits up slowly, thinking back to yesterday. Yesterday, she woke up _ really _ sick, and today, she hardly feels that way at all. This idea momentarily baffles her, until she rubs the remaining crust out of her eyes and the events of yesterday flash back to her in length.

Adora, who broke up with her. Adora, who she _ had _ barely spoken to in months. Adora, who back then had been as heartbroken as her and had once looked at her as if she’d been shattered in two, had talked with her, laughed with her, had forgiven her. Adora, who she had once felt so much resentment towards, was here. In her apartment.

_ Right? _

Getting up, Catra goes to the living room.

“Adora?” She calls, and when she gets no reply, her skin begins to feel prickly with heat. 

_ I didn’t... _

_ There’s no way I— _

“Adora?” Catra calls again, and when she sees no one in the living room, she feels her heart skip a beat. Catra’s starting to think yesterday was a time paradox of some sort, or, more plausibly, that her brain did conjure up some elaborate dream-hallucination.

_ It wouldn’t exactly be surprising. _

But Catra has to shake her head at that thought because she’s certain, she _ is certain _ that—

Not in the guest room, not in the bathroom either. 

_ Well, she wouldn’t just… _

_ Wouldn’t she? _

Catra isn’t sure whether she’s going to scream, sob, be sick, or something worse than all three, until – she’s smelling eggs. The smell of freshly made eggs waft through the apartment, pulling Catra from the dark chasm of her thoughts. A little too hastily, Catra makes her way to the kitchen, and lo and behold: a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, a glass of orange juice on the side, with a little note next to it.

Chuckling, although slightly exasperated, Catra picks up the note which reads:

_ Hey Catra, sorry I had to leave so early, but to make up for it, I made some eggs and toast! Oh, and all your medicine is just outside the cabinet. Hope you’re feeling better, and be sure to text me (: _

Practically running to her room to retrieve her phone, the grin on Catra’s face somehow widens as she shovels a forkful of the exponentially better tasting eggs (compared to yesterday) into her mouth with one hand, and opens her messaging app with the other.

_ jfc Adora, dont scare me like that, srsly, thought I was losing it until I smelt the eggs _

**No thank you then? Wow **

**And sry about that, had to rush to class :(**

_ nah its cool, and THANKS for the eggs _

**Better!**

_ anyway, how was class? _

**Um...I may still be in it   
**

_ Adora! (*o*) _

**I just wanted to make sure you’re okay!**

_ go. focus. in. class. _

**Okay, okay**

**Text me later tho?**

_ ofc, now go be studious _

**Fine…**

**Bye <3**

At that last message, Catra feels her heart stutter, and cheeks heat up. Unlike usual, she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed, nor does she hear her mind condemning herself for it either. Instead, she beams, hopeful about the future, hopeful about them, as she sends back:

_ <3 _

(“Things won’t change immediately, not without effort, not without hard work. In order not to slip back into bad habits, you must recognise that where you are now isn’t perfect, and may well never be. But that is completely fine, because perfection is an impossible standard to keep to and is frankly overrated.

“Just be as careful and considerate as you can be, to yourself and others, because healing after hurting is a long process, one that isn’t meant to be easy by any means. However if you can get past one hurdle, you can soar through all the others.”)

_ I believe we’ll make it. _

_ I know we can. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg! My second ever multichapter fic completed!  
I’m so happy that I got to write this and that you guys went on the ride with me. This really was supposed to be a small project, but because it’s me, that didn’t happen and I’m glad, because this is definitely one of my fav fics I’ve written. It’s was so much fun to write and to play with your guy’s emotions (and mine too tbh) with everything that happened. It kinda ended up being a deep dive into one aspect of the canon characters relationship (the kinda toxic side) which I built upon and explored in a different context. Hopefully, you were happy with the outcome!
> 
> Also, I hope someone noticed the tag I added, because I feel like that prettying muc sums up their relationship in this fic haha
> 
> I have more stuff coming soon, and as for my next big project, I can’t say much about that but I really wanna write a multichapter longer than a couple of chapters. I don’t know how possible it will be with GCSE’s (exams) around the corner, the if you guys are interested, I’d definitely have a go at it!
> 
> Thank you to @SimplyAbsolute and @MalachiWalker and many others for the support and comments! Once again, hope you guys enjoyed this fic, I love interacting with you guys on Twitter and Tumblr, so if you want, follow me ! (handle is below)
> 
> Anyway until next time, and if this comes out when intended, Merry Christmas!

**Author's Note:**

> TW - Drug use, depictions of mental illness, some violence (it’s not very graphic)
> 
> Hello! Long time no see! Not really, but this past month has been really busy because schools been a bitch and it’s not gonna stop being one anytime soon. After this fic, I really want to work on a multichapter which is on a larger scale, though with the pressure of school not stopping anytime soon, it’ll be a bit difficult. Nevertheless, alongside that I’ll still be answering the occasional tumblr prompts I get.
> 
> If you wanna talk about this fic and other things she ra related, leave a comment below (kudos are very very appreciated too) or talk to me on Tumblr/Twitter — 
> 
> Tumblr: bow_woahh  
Twitter: BowWoahh
> 
> Subscribe to know when the next chapter is out!
> 
> Edit: thank you so much for over 2300 hits and 200 kudos!! I really appreciate it!


End file.
